"Here"s Mrs. Grane"s poor girl lying sick of the fever--the Lord help her! and the boy died of it last week. We sent for the doctor this afternoon, and he"s busy with a poor soul that"s in her trouble; and now we"ve sent down to the squire"s, and the young ladies, G.o.d bless them! sent answer they"d come themselves straightway."
"No wonder you have typhus here," said Lancelot, "with this filthy open drain running right before the door. Why can"t you clean it out?"
"Why, what harm does that do?" answered the woman, peevishly.
"Besides, here"s my master gets up to his work by five in the morning, and not back till seven at night, and by then he ain"t in no humour to clean out gutters. And where"s the water to come from to keep a place clean? It costs many a one of us here a shilling a week the summer through to pay fetching water up the hill. We"ve work enough to fill our kettles. The muck must just lie in the road, smell or none, till the rain carries it away."
Lancelot sighed again.
"It would be a good thing for Ashy, Tregarva, if the weir-pool did, some fine morning, run up to Ashy Down, as poor Harry Verney said on his deathbed."
"There won"t be much of Ashy left by that time, sir, if the landlords go on pulling down cottages at their present rate; driving the people into the towns, to herd together there like hogs, and walk out to their work four or five miles every morning."
"Why," said Lancelot, "wherever one goes one sees commodious new cottages springing up."
"Wherever you go, sir; but what of wherever you don"t go? Along the roadsides, and round the gentlemen"s parks, where the cottages are in sight, it"s all very smart; but just go into the outlying hamlets--a whited sepulchre, sir, is many a great estate; outwardly swept and garnished, and inwardly full of all uncleanliness, and dead men"s bones."
At this moment two cloaked and veiled figures came up to the door, followed by a servant. There was no mistaking those delicate footsteps, and the two young men drew back with fluttering hearts, and breathed out silent blessings on the ministering angels, as they entered the crazy and reeking house.
"I"m thinking, sir," said Tregarva, as they walked slowly and reluctantly away, "that it is hard of the gentlemen to leave all G.o.d"s work to the ladies, as nine-tenths of them do."
"And I am thinking, Tregarva, that both for ladies and gentlemen, prevention is better than cure."
"There"s a great change come over Miss Argemone, sir. She used not to be so ready to start out at midnight to visit dying folk. A blessed change!"
Lancelot thought so too, and he thought that he knew the cause of it.
Argemone"s appearance, and their late conversation, had started a new covey of strange fancies. Lancelot followed them over hill and dale, glad to escape a moment from the mournful lessons of that evening; but even over them there was a cloud of sadness. Harry Verney"s last words, and Argemone"s accidental whisper about "a curse upon the Lavingtons," rose to his mind. He longed to ask Tregarva, but he was afraid--not of the man, for there was a delicacy in his truthfulness which encouraged the most utter confidence; but of the subject itself; but curiosity conquered.
"What did Old Harry mean about the Nun-pool?" he said at last.
"Every one seemed to understand him."
"Ah, sir, he oughtn"t to have talked of it! But dying men, at times, see over the dark water into deep things--deeper than they think themselves. Perhaps there"s one speaks through them. But I thought every one knew the story."
"I do not, at least."
"Perhaps it"s so much the better, sir."
"Why? I must insist on knowing. It is necessary--proper, that is-- that I should hear everything that concerns--"
"I understand, sir; so it is; and I"ll tell you. The story goes, that in the old Popish times, when the nuns held Whitford Priors, the first Mr. Lavington that ever was came from the king with a warrant to turn them all out, poor souls, and take the lands for his own. And they say the head lady of them--prioress, or abbess, as they called her--withstood him, and cursed him, in the name of the Lord, for a hypocrite who robbed harmless women under the cloak of punishing them for sins they"d never committed (for they say, sir, he went up to court, and slandered the nuns there for drunkards and worse). And she told him, "That the curse of the nuns of Whitford should be on him and his, till they helped the poor in the spirit of the nuns of Whitford, and the Nun-pool ran up to Ashy Down.""
"That time is not come yet," said Lancelot.
"But the worst is to come, sir. For he or his, sir, that night, said or did something to the lady, that was more than woman"s heart could bear: and the next morning she was found dead and cold, drowned in that weir-pool. And there the gentleman"s eldest son was drowned, and more than one Lavington beside. Miss Argemone"s only brother, that was the heir, was drowned there too, when he was a little one."
"I never heard that she had a brother."
"No, sir, no one talks of it. There are many things happen in the great house that you must go to the little house to hear of. But the country-folk believe, sir, that the nun"s curse holds true; and they say, that Whitford folks have been getting poorer and wickeder ever since that time, and will, till the Nun-pool runs up to Ashy, and the Lavingtons" name goes out of Whitford Priors."
Lancelot said nothing. A presentiment of evil hung over him. He was utterly down-hearted about Tregarva, about Argemone, about the poor. The truth was, he could not shake off the impression of the scene he had left, utterly disappointed and disgusted with the "revel." He had expected, as I said before, at least to hear something of pastoral sentiment, and of genial frolicsome humour; to see some innocent, simple enjoyment: but instead, what had he seen but vanity, jealousy, hoggish sensuality, dull vacuity? drudges struggling for one night to forget their drudgery. And yet withal, those songs, and the effect which they produced, showed that in these poor creatures, too, lay the germs of pathos, taste, melody, soft and n.o.ble affections. "What right have we," thought he, "to hinder their development? Art, poetry, music, science,--ay, even those athletic and graceful exercises on which we all pride ourselves, which we consider necessary to soften and refine ourselves, what G.o.d has given us a monopoly of them?--what is good for the rich man is good for the poor. Over-education? And what of that? What if the poor be raised above "their station"? What right have we to keep them down? How long have they been our born thralls in soul, as well as in body? What right have we to say that they shall know no higher recreation than the hogs, because, forsooth, if we raised them, they might refuse to work--FOR US? Are WE to fix how far their minds may be developed? Has not G.o.d fixed it for us, when He gave them the same pa.s.sions, talents, tastes, as our own?"
Tregarva"s meditations must have been running in a very different channel, for he suddenly burst out, after a long silence--
"It"s a pity these fairs can"t be put down. They do a lot of harm; ruin all the young girls round, the Dissenters" children especially, for they run utterly wild; their parents have no hold on them at all."
"They tell them that they are children of the devil," said Lancelot.
"What wonder if the children take them at their word, and act accordingly?"
"The parson here, sir, who is a G.o.d-fearing man enough, tried hard to put down this one, but the innkeepers were too strong for him."
"To take away their only amus.e.m.e.nt, in short. He had much better have set to work to amuse them himself."
"His business is to save souls, sir, and not to amuse them. I don"t see, sir, what Christian people want with such vanities."
Lancelot did not argue the point, for he knew the prejudices of Dissenters on the subject; but it did strike him that if Tregarva"s brain had been a little less preponderant, he, too, might have found the need of some recreation besides books and thought.
By this time they were at Lancelot"s door. He bid the keeper a hearty good-night, made him promise to see him next day, and went to bed and slept till nearly noon.
When he walked into his breakfast-room, he found a note on the table in his uncle"s handwriting. The vicar"s servant had left it an hour before. He opened it listlessly, rang the bell furiously, ordered out his best horse, and, huddling on his clothes, galloped to the nearest station, caught the train, and arrived at his uncle"s bank-- it had stopped payment two hours before.
CHAPTER XIV: WHAT"S TO BE DONE?
Yes! the bank had stopped. The ancient firm of Smith, Brown, Jones, Robinson, and Co., which had been for some years past expanding from a solid golden organism into a cobweb-tissue and huge balloon of threadbare paper, had at last worn through and collapsed, dropping its car and human contents miserably into the Thames mud. Why detail the pitiable post-mortem examination resulting? Lancelot sickened over it for many a long day; not, indeed, mourning at his private losses, but at the thorough hollowness of the system which it exposed, about which he spoke his mind pretty freely to his uncle, who bore it good-humouredly enough. Indeed, the discussions to which it gave rise rather comforted the good man, by turning his thought from his own losses to general principles. "I have ruined you, my poor boy," he used to say; "so you may as well take your money"s worth out of me in bullying." Nothing, indeed, could surpa.s.s his honest and manly sorrow for having been the cause of Lancelot"s beggary; but as for persuading him that his system was wrong, it was quite impossible. Not that Lancelot was hard upon him; on the contrary, he a.s.sured him, repeatedly, of his conviction, that the precepts of the Bible had nothing to do with the laws of commerce; that though the Jews were forbidden to take interest of Jews, Christians had a perfect right to be as hard as they liked on "brother" Christians; that there could not be the least harm in share-jobbing, for though it did, to be sure, add nothing to the wealth of the community--only conjure money out of your neighbour"s pocket into your own--yet was not that all fair in trade? If a man did not know the real value of the shares he sold you, you were not bound to tell him. Again, Lancelot quite agreed with his uncle, that though covetousness might be idolatry, yet money-making could not be called covetousness; and that, on the whole, though making haste to be rich was denounced as a dangerous and ruinous temptation in St. Paul"s times, that was not the slightest reason why it should be so now. All these concessions were made with a freedom which caused the good banker to suspect at times that his shrewd nephew was laughing at him in his sleeve, but he could not but subscribe to them for the sake of consistency; though as a staunch Protestant, it puzzled him a little at times to find it necessary to justify himself by getting his "infidel" nephew to explain away so much of the Bible for him. But men are accustomed to do that now-a-days, and so was he.
Once only did Lancelot break out with his real sentiments when the banker was planning how to re-establish his credit; to set to work, in fact, to blow over again the same bubble which had already burst under him.
"If I were a Christian," said Lancelot, "like you, I would call this credit system of yours the devil"s selfish counterfeit of G.o.d"s order of mutual love and trust; the child of that miserable dream, which, as Dr. Chalmers well said, expects universal selfishness to do the work of universal love. Look at your credit system, how--not in its abuse, but in its very essence--it carries the seeds of self- destruction. In the first place, a man"s credit depends, not upon his real worth and property, but upon his reputation for property; daily and hourly he is tempted, he is forced, to puff himself, to pretend to be richer than he is."
The banker sighed and shrugged his shoulders. "We all do it, my dear boy."
"I know it. You must do it, or be more than human. There is lie the first, and look at lie the second. This credit system is founded on the universal faith and honour of men towards men. But do you think faith and honour can be the children of selfishness?
Men must be chivalrous and disinterested to be honourable. And you expect them all to join in universal faith--each for his own selfish interest? You forget that if that is the prime motive, men will be honourable only as long as it suits that same self-interest."
The banker shrugged his shoulders again.
"Yes, my dear uncle," said Lancelot, "you all forget it, though you suffer for it daily and hourly; though the honourable men among you complain of the stain which has fallen on the old chivalrous good faith of English commerce, and say that now, abroad as well as at home, an Englishman"s word is no longer worth other men"s bonds.
You see the evil, and you deplore it in disgust. Ask yourself honestly, how can you battle against it, while you allow in practice, and in theory too, except in church on Sundays, the very falsehood from which it all springs?--that a man is bound to get wealth, not for his country, but for himself; that, in short, not patriotism, but selfishness, is the bond of all society.
Selfishness can collect, not unite, a herd of cowardly wild cattle, that they may feed together, breed together, keep off the wolf and bear together. But when one of your wild cattle falls sick, what becomes of the corporate feelings of the herd then? For one man of your cla.s.s who is n.o.bly helped by his fellows, are not the thousand left behind to perish? Your Bible talks of society, not as a herd, but as a living tree, an organic individual body, a holy brotherhood, and kingdom of G.o.d. And here is an idol which you have set up instead of it!"
But the banker was deaf to all arguments. No doubt he had plenty, for he was himself a just and generous--ay, and a G.o.d-fearing man in his way, only he regarded Lancelot"s young fancies as too visionary to deserve an answer; which they most probably are; else, having been broached as often as they have been, they would surely, ere now, have provoked the complete refutation which can, no doubt, be given to them by hundreds of learned votaries of so-called commerce.
And here I beg my readers to recollect that I am in no way answerable for the speculations, either of Lancelot or any of his acquaintances; and that these papers have been, from beginning to end, as in name, so in nature, Yeast--an honest sample of the questions, which, good or bad, are fermenting in the minds of the young of this day, and are rapidly leavening the minds of the rising generation. No doubt they are all as full of fallacies as possible, but as long as the saying of the German sage stands true, that "the destiny of any nation, at any given moment, depends on the opinions of its young men under five-and-twenty," so long it must be worth while for those who wish to preserve the present order of society to justify its acknowledged evils somewhat, not only to the few young men who are interested in preserving them, but also to the many who are not.
Though, therefore, I am neither Plymouth Brother nor Communist, and as thoroughly convinced as the newspapers can make me, that to a.s.sert the duties of property is only to plot its destruction, and that a community of goods must needs imply a community of wives (as every one knows was the case with the apostolic Christians), I shall take the liberty of narrating Lancelot"s fanatical conduct, without execratory comment, certain that he will still receive his just reward of condemnation; and that, if I find facts, a sensible public will find abhorrence for them. His behaviour was, indeed, most singular; he absolutely refused a good commercial situation which his uncle procured him. He did not believe in being "cured by a hair of the dog that bit him;" and he refused, also, the really generous offers of the creditors, to allow him a sufficient maintenance.