The Struggles of Brown, Jones, and Robinson

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER XXIII.

  FAREWELL.

  For the four appointed days the sale was continued, and it waswondrous to see with what animation the things went off. It seemed asthough ladies were desirous of having a souvenir from Magenta House,and that goods could be sold at a higher price under the name of asacrifice than they would fetch in the ordinary way of trade. "Ifonly we could have done as well," Robinson said to his partner Jones,wishing that, if possible, there might be good humour between them inthese last days.

  "We did do quite as well, and better," said Jones, "only the moneywas thrown away in them horrid advertisements." After that, GeorgeRobinson made no further effort to maintain friendly relations withMr. Jones.

  "George," said Mr. Brown, "I hope they'll allow me something. Theyought; oughtn't they? There wouldn't have been nothing, only for myfour thousand pounds." Robinson did not take the trouble to explainto him that had he kept his four thousand pounds out of the way,the creditors would not now have any lost money to lament. Robinsonwas careful to raise no hopes by his answer; but, nevertheless, heresolved that when the sale was over, he would do his best.

  On the fifth day, when the shop had been well nigh cleared of all thegoods, the premises themselves were sold. Brown, Jones, and Robinsonhad taken them on a term of years, and the lease with all theimprovements was put up to auction. When we say that the price whichthe property fetched exceeded the whole sum spent for externaland internal decorations, including the Magenta paint and theplate-glass, we feel that the highest possible testimony is given tothe taste and talent displayed by the firm.

  It was immediately after this that application was made to thecreditors on behalf of Mr. Brown.

  "He brought four thousand pounds into the business," said Robinson,"and now he hasn't a penny of his own."

  "And we have none of us got a penny," whined out Mr. Jones, who wasstanding by.

  "Mr. Jones and I are young, and can earn our bread," said Robinson;"but that old man must go into the workhouse, if you do not feel itpossible to do something for him."

  "And so must my poor babbies," said Jones. "As to work, I ain't fitfor it."

  But he was soon interrupted, and made to understand that he mightthink himself lucky if he were not made to disgorge that whichhe already possessed. As to Mr. Brown, the creditors with muchgenerosity agreed that an annuity of 20_s._ a week should bepurchased for him out of the proceeds of the sale. "I ain't long forthis world, George," he said, when he was told; "and they ought toget it cheap. Put 'em up to that, George; do now." Twenty shillings aweek was not much for all his wants; but, nevertheless, he might bemore comfortable with that than he had been for many a year, if onlyhis daughter would be kind to him. Alas, alas! was it within thenature of things that his daughters should be kind?

  It was on this occasion, when the charitable intention of thecreditors was communicated to Mr. Brown by Robinson, that thatconversation took place to which allusion has been made in theopening chapter of these memoirs. Of course, it was necessary thateach member of the firm should provide in some way for his futurenecessities. Mr. Jones had signified his intention of opening a smallhairdresser's shop in Gray's Inn Lane. "I was brought up to it once,"he said, "and it don't require much ready money." Both Mr. Brown andRobinson knew that he was in possession of money, but it was not nowworth their while to say more about this. The fox had made good hisprey, and who could say where it was hidden?

  "And what will you do, George?" asked Mr. Brown.

  Then it was that Robinson communicated to them the fact thatapplication had been made to him by the Editor of a first classMagazine for a written account of the doings of the firm. "I think itmay be of advantage to commerce in general," the Editor had said withhis customary dignity of expression and propriety of demeanour. "Iquite agree with you," Robinson had replied, "if only the commercialworld of Great Britain can be induced to read the lesson." The Editorseemed to think that the commercial world of Great Britain did readthe CORNHILL MAGAZINE, and an arrangement was quickly made betweenthem. Those who have perused the chapter in question will rememberhow Robinson yielded when the senior partner pleaded that as they hadbeen partners so long, they should still be partners to the end; andhow he had yielded again when it was suggested to him that he shouldreceive some assistance in the literary portion of the work. Thatassistance has been given, and George Robinson hopes that it may havebeen of advantage.

  "I suppose we shall see each other sometimes, George," Maryanne saidto him, when she came down to his little room to bid him farewell.

  "I hope we shall, Maryanne."

  "I don't suppose we shall ever dance together again at the Hall ofHarmony."

  "No, Maryanne, never. That phase of life is for me over. Neither withyou nor with any other fair girl shall I again wanton away the flyinghours. Life is too precious for that; and the work which falls upon aman's shoulders is too exacting. The Hall of Harmony is for children,Maryanne;--for grown children, perhaps, but still for children."

  "You used to like it, George."

  "I did; and could again. So could I again stop with longing mouth atthe window of that pastrycook, whose tarts in early life attractedall my desires. I could again be a boy in everything, did I notrecognize the stern necessity which calls me to be a man. I coulddance with you still, whirling swiftly round the room to the sweetsound of the music, stretching the hours of delight out to the verydawn, were it not for Adam's doom. In the sweat of my brow must I eatmy bread. There is a time for all things, Maryanne; but with me thetime for such pastimes as those is gone."

  "You'll keep company with some other young woman before long, George,and then you'll be less gloomy."

  "Never! That phase of life is also over. Why should I? To whatpurpose?"

  "To be married, of course."

  "Yes; and become a woman's slave, like poor Poppins; or else havemy heart torn again with racking jealousy, as it was with you. No,Maryanne! Let those plodding creatures link themselves with womenwhose bodies require comforting but whose minds never soar. The worldmust be populated, and therefore let the Briskets marry."

  "I suppose you've heard of him, George?"

  "Not a word."

  "La, now! I declare you've no curiosity to inquire about any one. IfI was dead and buried to-morrow, I believe you'd never ask a wordabout me."

  "I would go to your grave, Maryanne, and sit there in silence."

  "Would you, now? I hope you won't, all the same. But about Brisket.You remember when that row was, and you were so nigh choking him?"

  "Do I remember? Ay, Maryanne; when shall I forget it? It was the lasthour of my madness."

  "I never admired you so much as I did then, George. But never mind.That's all done and over now;--isn't it?"

  "All done and over," said Robinson, mournfully repeating her words.

  "Of course it is. But about Brisket. Immediately after that, the verynext day, he went out to Gogham,--where he was always going, youknow, with that cart of his, to buy sheep. Sheep, indeed!"

  "And wasn't it for sheep?"

  "No, George. Brisket was the sheep, and there was there a littleshe-wolf that has got him at last into her claws. Brisket is married,George."

  "What! another Poppins! Ha! ha! ha! We shall not want for children."

  "He has seen his way at last. She was a drover's daughter; and nowhe's married her and brought her home."

  "A drover's daughter?"

  "Well, he says a grazier's; but it's all the same. He never wouldhave done for me, George; never. And I'll tell you more; I don'tthink I ever saw the man as would. I should have taken either ofyou,--I was so knocked about among 'em. But I should have made youmiserable, whichever it was. It's a consolation to me when I think ofthat."

  And it was a consolation also to him. He had loved her,--had lovedher very dearly. He had been almost mad for love of her. But yethe had always known, that had he won her she would have made himmiserable. There was consolation in that when he thought of his loss.Then, at
last, he wished her good-by. "And now farewell, Maryanne. Begentle with that old man."

  "George," she said, "as long as he wants me, I'll stick to him. He'snever been a good father to me; but if he wants me, I'll stick tohim. As to being gentle, it's not in me. I wasn't brought up gentle,and you can't teach an old dog new tricks." Those were the last wordsshe spoke to him, and they had, at any rate, the merit of truth.

  And then, before he walked out for the last time from the portals ofMagenta House, he bade adieu to his old partner Mr. Brown. "God blessyou, George!" said the old man; "God bless you!"

  "Mr. Brown," said he, "I cannot part from you without acknowledgingthat the loss of all your money sits very heavy on my heart."

  "Never think of it, George."

  "But I shall think of it. You were an old man, Mr. Brown, and themoney was enough for you; or, if you did go into trade again, the oldway would have suited you best."

  "Well, George, now you mention it, I think it would."

  "It was the same mistake, Mr. Brown, that we have so often heardof,--putting old wine into a new bottle. The bottle is broken and thewine is spilt. For myself, I've learned a lesson, and I am a wiserman; but I'm sorry for you, Mr. Brown.

  "I shall never say a word to blame you, George."

  "As to my principles,--that system of commerce which I haveadvocated,--as to that, I am still without a doubt. I am certainof the correctness of my views. Look at Barlywig and his colossalfortune, and 40,000_l._ a year spent in advertising."

  "But then you should have your 40,000_l._ a year."

  "By no means! But the subject is a long one, Mr. Brown, and cannotnow be discussed with advantage. This, however, I do feel,--that Ishould not have embarked your little all in such an enterprise. Itwas enough for you; but to me, with my views, it was nothing,--lessthan nothing. I will begin again with unimpeded wings, and you shallhear of my success. But for your sake, Mr. Brown, I regret what ispast." Then he pressed the old man's hand and went forth from MagentaHouse. From that day to this present one he has never again enteredthe door.

  "And so Brisket is married. Brisket is right. Brisket is a happyman," he said to himself, as he walked slowly down the passage bySt. Botolph's Church. "Brisket is certainly right; I will go and seeBrisket." So he did; and continuing his way along the back of theBank and the narrow street which used to be called Lad Lane,--I wishthey would not alter the names of the streets; was it not enoughthat the "Swan with Two Necks" should be pulled down, foreshadowing,perhaps, in its ruin the fate of another bird with two necks, fromwhich this one took its emblematic character?--and so making his wayout into Aldersgate Street. He had never before visited the Lares ofBrisket, for Brisket had been his enemy. But Brisket was his enemy nolonger, and he walked into the shop with a light foot and a pleasantsmile. There, standing at some little distance behind the block,looking with large, wondering eyes at the carcases of the sheep whichhung around her, stood a wee little woman, very pretty, with redcheeks, and red lips, and short, thick, clustering curls. This wasthe daughter of the grazier from Gogham. "The shopman will be backin a minute," said she. "I ought to be able to do it myself, but I'mrather astray about the things yet awhile." Then George Robinson toldher who he was.

  She knew his name well, and gave him her little plump hand in tokenof greeting. "Laws a mercy! are you George Robinson? I've heard sucha deal about you. He's inside, just tidying hisself a bit for dinner.Who do you think there is here, Bill?" and she opened the doorleading to the back premises. "Here's George Robinson, that you'realways so full of." Then he followed her out into a little yard,where he found Brisket in the neighbourhood of a pump, smellingstrongly of yellow soap, with his sleeves tucked up, and hard at workwith a rough towel.

  "Robinson, my boy," cried he, "I'm glad to see you; and so is Mrs.B. Ain't you, Em'ly?" Whereupon Em'ly said that she was delightedto see Mr. Robinson. "And you're just in time for as tidy a bit ofroast veal as you won't see again in a hurry,--fed down at Goghamby Em'ly's mother. I killed it myself, with my own hands. Didn't I,Em'ly?"

  Robinson stopped and partook of the viands which were so stronglyrecommended to him; and then, after dinner, he and Brisket and thebride became very intimate and confidential over a glass of hotbrandy-and-water.

  "I don't do this kind of thing, only when I've got a friend," saidBrisket, tapping the tumbler with his spoon. "But I really am glad tosee you. I've took a fancy to you now, ever since you went so nighthrottling me. By Jove! though, I began to think it was all up withme,--only for Sarah Jane."

  "But he didn't!" said Emily, looking first at her great husband andthen at Robinson's slender proportions.

  "Didn't he though? But he just did. And what do you think, Em'ly? Hewanted me once to sit with him on a barrel of gunpowder."

  "A barrel of gunpowder!"

  "And smoke our pipes there,--quite comfortable. And then he wanted meto go and fling ourselves into the river. That was uncommon civil,wasn't it? And then he well nigh choked me."

  "It was all about that young woman," said Emily, with a toss of herhead. "And from all I can hear tell, she wasn't worth fighting for.As for you, Bill, I wonder at you; so I do."

  "I thought I saw my way," said Brisket.

  "It's well for you that you've got somebody near you that will seebetter now. And as for you, Mr. Robinson; I hope you won't be long inthe dumps, neither." Whereupon he explained to her that he was by nomeans in the dumps. He had failed in trade, no doubt, but he was nowengaged upon a literary work, as to which considerable expectationhad been raised, and he fully hoped to provide for his humble wantsin this way till he should be able to settle himself again to somenew commercial enterprise.

  "It isn't that as she means," said Brisket. "She means about taking awife. That's all the women ever thinks of."

  "What I was saying is, that as you and Bill were both after her,and as you are both broke with her, and seeing that Bill's providedhimself like--"

  "And a charming provision he has made," said Robinson.

  "I did see my way," said Brisket, with much self-content.

  "So you ought to look elsewhere as well as he," continued Emily."According to all accounts, you've neither of you lost so very muchin not getting Maryanne Brown."

  "Maryanne Brown is a handsome young woman," said Robinson.

  "Why, she's as red as red," said Mrs. Brisket; "quite carroty, theytell me. And as for handsome, Mr. Robinson;--handsome is as handsomedoes; that's what I say. If I had two sweethearts going about talkingof gunpowder, and throwing themselves into rivers along of me,I'd--I'd--I'd never forgive myself. So, Mr. Robinson, I hope you'llsuit yourself soon. Bill, don't you take any more of that brandy.Don't now, when I tell you not."

  Then Robinson rose and took his leave, promising to make futurevisits to Aldersgate Street. And as Brisket squeezed his hand atparting, all the circumstances of that marriage were explained in avery few words. "She had three hundred, down, you know;--really down.So I said done and done, when I found the money wasn't there withMaryanne. And I think that I've seen my way."

  Robinson congratulated him, and assured him that he thought he hadseen it very clearly.

  CHAPTER XXIV.

  GEORGE ROBINSON'S DREAM.

  George Robinson, though his present wants were provided for by hispen, was by no means disposed to sink into a literary hack. It was bycommerce that he desired to shine. It was to trade,--trade, in thehighest sense of the word,--that his ambition led him. Down at theCrystal Palace he had stood by the hour together before the statueof the great Cheetham,--ominous name!--of him who three centuriesago had made money by dealing in Manchester goods. Why should nothe also have his statue? But then how was he to begin? He had begun,and failed. With hopeful words he had declared to Mr. Brown that noton that account was he daunted; but still there was before him theburden of another commencement. Many of us know what it is to havehigh hopes, and yet to feel from time to time a terrible despondencywhen the labours come by which those hopes should be realized.Robin
son had complained that he was impeded in his flight by Brownand Jones. Those impediments had dropped from him now; and yet heknew not how to proceed upon his course.

  He walked forth one evening, after his daily task, pondering thesethings as he went. He made his solitary way along the Kingsland Road,through Tottenham, and on to Edmonton, thinking deeply of his futurecareer. What had John Gilpin done that had made him a citizen ofrenown? Had he advertised? Or had he contented himself simply withstanding behind his counter till customers should come to him? InJohn Gilpin's time the science of advertisement was not born;--or, ifborn, was in its earliest infancy. And yet he had achieved renown.And Cheetham;--but probably Cheetham had commenced with a capital.

  Thus he walked on till he found himself among the fields,--thosefirst fields which greet the eyes of a Londoner, in which wheat isnot grown, but cabbages and carrots for the London market; and hereseating himself upon a gate, he gave his mind up to a close studyof the subject. First he took from his pocket a short list which healways carried, and once more read over the names and figures whichit bore.

  Barlywig, L40,000 per annum.

  How did Barlywig begin such an outlay as that? He knew that Barlywighad, as a boy, walked up to town with twopence in his pocket, and inhis early days, had swept out the shop of a shoemaker. The giants oftrade all have done that. Then he went on with the list:--

  Holloway . . . . L30,000 per annum. Moses . . . . 10,000 " Macassar Oil . . 10,000 " Dr. De Jongh . . 10,000 "

  What a glorious fraternity! There were many others that followed withfigures almost equally stupendous. Revalenta Arabica! Bedsteads!Paletots! Food for Cattle! But then how did these great men begin?He himself had begun with some money in his hand, and had failed.As to them, he believed that they had all begun with twopence. Asfor genius and special talent, it was admitted on all sides thathe possessed it. Of that he could feel no doubt, as other men werewilling to employ him.

  "Shall I never enjoy the fruits of my own labour?" said he tohimself. "Must I still be as the bee, whose honey is robbed from himas soon as made?

  The lofty rhyme I still must build, Though other hands shall touch the money.

  Will this be my fate for ever?--

  The patient oxen till the furrows, But never eat the generous corn.

  Shall the corn itself never be my own?"

  And as he sat there the words of Poppins came upon his memory. "Youadvertising chaps never do anything. All that printing never makesthe world any richer." At the moment he had laughed down Poppins withabsolute scorn; but now, at this solitary moment he began to reflectwhether there might be any wisdom in his young friend's words. "Thequestion has been argued," he continued in his soliloquy, "by thegreatest philosopher of the age. A man goes into hats, and in orderto force a sale, he builds a large cart in the shape of a hat, paintsit blue, and has it drawn through the streets. He still finds thathis sale is not rapid; and with a view of increasing it, what shallhe do? Shall he make his felt hats better, or shall he make hiswooden hat bigger? Poppins and the philosopher say that the formerplan will make the world the richer, but they do not say that it willsell the greater number of hats. Am I to look after the world? Am Inot to look to myself? Is not the world a collection of individuals,all of whom are doing so? Has anything been done for the world by theQuixotic aspirations of general philanthropy, at all equal to thatwhich individual enterprise has achieved? Poppins and the philosopherwould spend their energies on a good hat. But why? Not that they lovethe head that is to wear it. The sale would still be their object.They would sell hats, not that the heads of men may be well covered,but that they themselves might live and become rich. To force a salemust be the first duty of a man in trade, and a man's first dutyshould be all in all to him.

  "If the hats sold from the different marts be not good enough, withwhom does the fault rest? Is it not with the customers who purchasethem? Am I to protect the man who demands from me a cheap hat? Am Ito say, 'Sir, here is a cheap hat. It is made of brown paper, and thegum will run from it in the first shower. It will come to pieces whenworn and disgrace you among your female acquaintances by becomingdinged and bulged?' Should I do him good? He would buy his cheaphat elsewhere, and tell pleasant stories of the madman he had met.The world of purchasers will have cheap articles, and the world ofcommerce must supply them. The world of purchasers will have theirears tickled, and the world of commerce must tickle them. Of what useis all this about adulteration? If Mrs. Jones will buy her sausagesat a lower price per pound than pork fetches in the market, has shea right to complain when some curious doctor makes her understandthat her viands have not been supplied exclusively from the pig?She insists on milk at three halfpence a quart; but the cow willnot produce it. The cow cannot produce it at that price, unlessshe be aided by the pump; and therefore the pump aids her. If therebe dishonesty in this, it is with the purchaser, not with thevendor,--with the public, not with the tradesman."

  But still as he sat upon the gate, thus arguing with himself, adream came over him, a mist of thought as it were, whispering to himstrangely that even yet he might be wrong. He endeavoured to throw itoff, shaking himself as it were, and striving to fix his mind firmlyupon his old principles. But it was of no avail. He knew he wasawake; but yet he dreamed; and his dream was to him as a terriblenightmare.

  What if he were wrong! What if those two philosophers had on theirside some truth! He would fain be honest if he knew the way. What ifthose names upon his list were the names of false gods, whose worshipwould lead him to a hell of swindlers instead of the bright heaven ofcommercial nobility! "Barlywig is in Parliament," he said to himself,over and over again, in loud tones, striving to answer the spiritof his dream. "In Parliament! He sits upon committees; men jostleto speak to him; and he talks loud among the big ones of the earth.He spends forty thousand a year in his advertisements, and growsincredibly rich by the expenditure. Men and women flock in crowds tohis shop. He lives at Albert Gate in a house big enough for a royalduke, and is the lord of ten thousand acres in Yorkshire. Barlywigcannot have been wrong, let that philosopher philosophize as hewill!" But still the dream was there, crushing him like a nightmare.

  "Why don't you produce something, so as to make the world richer?"Poppins had said. He knew well what Poppins had meant by making theworld richer. If a man invent a Katakairion shirt, he does make theworld richer; if it be a good one, he makes it much richer. But theman who simply says that he has done so adds nothing to the world'swealth. His answer had been that it was his work to sell the shirts,and that of the purchaser to buy them. Let each look to his own work.If he could be successful in his selling, then he would have a rightto be proud of his success. The world would be best served by closeattention on the part of each to his own business. Such had beenthe arguments with which he had silenced his friend and contentedhimself, while the excitement of the shop in Bishopsgate Street wascontinued; but now, as he sat there upon the gate, this dream cameupon him, and he began to doubt. Could it be that a man had a doubleduty, each separate from the other;--a duty domestic and private,requiring his devotion and loyalty to his wife, his children, hispartners, and himself; and another duty, widely extended in all itsbearings and due to the world in which he lived? Could Poppins haveseen this, while he was blind? Was a man bound to produce true shirtsfor the world's benefit even though he should make no money by sodoing;--either true shirts or none at all?

  The evening light fell upon him as he still sat there on the gate,and he became very melancholy. "If I have been wrong," he said tohimself, "I must give up the fight. I cannot begin again now andlearn new precepts. After all that I have done with that old man'smoney, I cannot now own that I have been wrong, and commence againon a theory taught to me by Poppins. If this be so, then farewell toCommerce!" And as he said so, he dropped from his seat, and, leaningover the rail, hid his face within his hands.

  As he stood there, suddenly a sound struck his ears, and he knewthat the bells of Ed
monton were ringing. The church was distant, butnevertheless the tones came sharp upon him with their clear music.They rang on quickly, loudly, and with articulate voice. Surely therewere words within those sounds. What was it they were saying to him?He listened for a few seconds, for a minute or two, for five minutes;and then his ear and senses had recognized the language--"Turn again,Robinson, Member of Parliament." He heard it so distinctly that hisear would not for a moment abandon the promise. The words could notbe mistaken. "Turn again, Robinson, Member of Parliament."

  Then he did turn, and walked back to London with a trusting heart.

  London: Printed by Smith, Elder and Co., Old Bailey, E.C.

  * * * * * *

  Transcriber's note:

  Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

  Chapter VIII, paragraph 56. Previously Fame was attributed masculine gender. The reader might note the sentence in this paragraph: On that morrow he was more enterprising than ever, and it was then that he originated the idea of the four men in armour, and of Fame with HER classical horn and gilded car.

  Specific changes in wording of the text are listed below.

  Chapter XII, paragraph 25. The word "partners" was changed to "partner" in the sentence: And might it not be well for her to forget that other Samson, and once more to trust herself to her father's PARTNER?

  Chapter XVI, paragraph 44. The order of the words "was it" was inverted in the sentence: Why WAS IT, that at this eventful period of Robinson's existence Mrs. Poppins should have turned against him?