When the World Shook

by H. Rider Haggard

  Chapter II. Bastin and Bickley

  Behold me once more a man without an occupation, but now the possessorof about L900,000. It was a very considerable fortune, if not a largeone in England; nothing like the millions of which I had dreamed, butstill enough. To make the most of it and to be sure that it remained, Iinvested it very well, mostly in large mortgages at four per cent which,if the security is good, do not depreciate in capital value. Never againdid I touch a single speculative stock, who desired to think no moreabout money. It was at this time that I bought the Fulcombe property.It cost me about L120,000 of my capital, or with alterations, repairs,etc., say L150,000, on which sum it may pay a net two and a half percent, not more.

  This L3,700 odd I have always devoted to the upkeep of the place, whichis therefore in first-rate order. The rest I live on, or save.

  These arrangements, with the beautifying and furnishing of the houseand the restoration of the church in memory of my father, occupied andamused me for a year or so, but when they were finished time began tohang heavy on my hands. What was the use of possessing about L20,000 ayear when there was nothing upon which it could be spent? For afterall my own wants were few and simple and the acquisition of valuablepictures and costly furniture is limited by space. Oh! in my small wayI was like the weary King Ecclesiast. For I too made me great worksand had possessions of great and small cattle (I tried farming andlost money over it!) and gathered me silver and gold and the peculiartreasure of kings, which I presume means whatever a man in authoritychiefly desires, and so forth. But "behold all was vanity and vexationof spirit, and there was no profit under the sun."

  So, notwithstanding my wealth and health and the deference which isthe rich man's portion, especially when the limit of his riches is notknown, it came about that I too "hated life," and this when I was notmuch over thirty. I did not know what to do; for Society as the wordis generally understood, I had no taste; it bored me; horse-racing andcards I loathed, who had already gambled too much on a big scale. Thekilling of creatures under the name of sport palled upon me, indeed Ibegan to doubt if it were right, while the office of a junior countymagistrate in a place where there was no crime, only occupied me an houror two a month.

  Lastly my neighbours were few and with all due deference to them,extremely dull. At least I could not understand them because in themthere did not seem to be anything to understand, and I am quite certainthat they did not understand me. More, when they came to learn that Iwas radical in my views and had written certain "dreadful" andsomewhat socialistic books in the form of fiction, they both feared andmistrusted me as an enemy to their particular section of the race. AsI had not married and showed no inclination to do so, their womenkindalso, out of their intimate knowledge, proclaimed that I led an immorallife, though a little reflection would have shown them that there wasno one in the neighbourhood which for a time I seldom left, who couldpossibly have tempted an educated creature to such courses.

  Terrible is the lot of a man who, while still young and possessing theintellect necessary to achievement, is deprived of all ambition. AndI had none at all. I did not even wish to purchase a peerage or abaronetcy in this fashion or in that, and, as in my father's case, mytastes were so many and so catholic that I could not lose myself in anyone of them. They never became more than diversions to me. A hobby isonly really amusing when it becomes an obsession.

  At length my lonesome friendlessness oppressed me so much that I tooksteps to mitigate it. In my college life I had two particular friendswhom I think I must have selected because they were so absolutelydifferent from myself.

  They were named Bastin and Bickley. Bastin--Basil was his Christianname--was an uncouth, shock-headed, flat-footed person of large, ruggedframe and equally rugged honesty, with a mind almost incredibly simple.Nothing surprised him because he lacked the faculty of surprise. He waslike that kind of fish which lies at the bottom of the sea and takesevery kind of food into its great maw without distinguishing itsflavour. Metaphorically speaking, heavenly manna and decayed cabbagewere just the same to Bastin. He was not fastidious and both were mentalpabulum--of a sort--together with whatever lay between these extremes.Yet he was good, so painfully good that one felt that without exertionto himself he had booked a first-class ticket straight to Heaven; indeedthat his guardian angel had tied it round his neck at birth lest heshould lose it, already numbered and dated like an identification disc.

  I am bound to add that Bastin never went wrong because he never felt theslightest temptation to do so. This I suppose constitutes real virtue,since, in view of certain Bible sayings, the person who is tempted andwould like to yield to the temptation, is equally a sinner with theperson who does yield. To be truly good one should be too good to betempted, or too weak to make the effort worth the tempter's while--inshort not deserving of his powder and shot.

  I need hardly add that Bastin went into the Church; indeed, he could nothave gone anywhere else; it absorbed him naturally, as doubtless Heavenwill do in due course. Only I think it likely that until they get toknow him he will bore the angels so much that they will continually movehim up higher. Also if they have any susceptibilities left, probablyhe will tread upon their toes--an art in which I never knew his equal.However, I always loved Bastin, perhaps because no one else did, a factof which he remained totally unconscious, or perhaps because of hisbrutal way of telling one what he conceived to be the truth, which, ashe had less imagination than a dormouse, generally it was not. For ifthe truth is a jewel, it is one coloured and veiled by many differentlights and atmospheres.

  It only remains to add that he was learned in his theological fashionand that among his further peculiarities were the slow, monotonousvoice in which he uttered his views in long sentences, and his totalindifference to adverse argument however sound and convincing.

  My other friend, Bickley, was a person of a quite different character.Like Bastin, he was learned, but his tendencies faced another way.If Bastin's omnivorous throat could swallow a camel, especiallya theological camel, Bickley's would strain at the smallest gnat,especially a theological gnat. The very best and most upright of men,yet he believed in nothing that he could not taste, see or handle. Hewas convinced, for instance, that man is a brute-descended accident andno more, that what we call the soul or the mind is produced by a certainaction of the grey matter of the brain; that everything apparentlyinexplicable has a perfectly mundane explanation, if only one could findit; that miracles certainly never did happen, and never will; that allreligions are the fruit of human hopes and fears and the most convincingproof of human weakness; that notwithstanding our infinite variations weare the subjects of Nature's single law and the victims of blind, blackand brutal chance.

  Such was Bickley with his clever, well-cut face that always remindedme of a cameo, and thoughtful brow; his strong, capable hands and hisrather steely mouth, the mere set of which suggested controversy ofan uncompromising kind. Naturally as the Church had claimed Bastin, somedicine claimed Bickley.

  Now as it happened the man who succeeded my father as vicar of Fulcombewas given a better living and went away shortly after I had purchasedthe place and with it the advowson. Just at this time also I receiveda letter written in the large, sprawling hand of Bastin from whom Ihad not heard for years. It went straight to the point, saying that he,Bastin, had seen in a Church paper that the last incumbent had resignedthe living of Fulcombe which was in my gift. He would therefore beobliged if I would give it to him as the place he was at in Yorkshiredid not suit his wife's health.

  Here I may state that afterwards I learned that what did not suit Mrs.Bastin was the organist, who was pretty. She was by nature a womanwith a temperament so insanely jealous that actually she managed to besuspicious of Bastin, whom she had captured in an unguarded moment whenhe was thinking of something else and who would as soon have thought ofeven looking at any woman as he would of worshipping Baal. As a matterof fact it took him months to know one female from another. Except aspossible providers of sub
scriptions and props of Mothers' Meetings,women had no interest for him.

  To return--with that engaging honesty which I have mentioned--Bastin'sletter went on to set out all his own disabilities, which, he added,would probably render him unsuitable for the place he desired to fill.He was a High Churchman, a fact which would certainly offend many; hehad no claims to being a preacher although he was extraordinarily wellacquainted with the writings of the Early Fathers. (What on earth hadthat to do with the question, I wondered.) On the other hand he hadgenerally been considered a good visitor and was fond of walking (hemeant to call on distant parishioners, but did not say so).

  Then followed a page and a half on the evils of the existing systemof the presentation to livings by private persons, ending with thesuggestion that I had probably committed a sin in buying this particularadvowson in order to increase my local authority, that is, if I hadbought it, a point on which he was ignorant. Finally he informed me thatas he had to christen a sick baby five miles away on a certain moorand it was too wet for him to ride his bicycle, he must stop. And hestopped.

  There was, however, a P.S. to the letter, which ran as follows:

  "Someone told me that you were dead a few years ago, and of course itmay be another man of the same name who owns Fulcombe. If so, no doubtthe Post Office will send back this letter."

  That was his only allusion to my humble self in all those diffuse pages.It was a long while since I had received an epistle which made me laughso much, and of course I gave him the living by return of post, andeven informed him that I would increase its stipend to a sum which Iconsidered suitable to the position.

  About ten days later I received another letter from Bastin which, asa scrawl on the flap of the envelope informed me, he had carried fora week in his pocket and forgotten to post. Except by inference itreturned no thanks for my intended benefits. What it did say, however,was that he thought it wrong of me to have settled a matter of suchspiritual importance in so great a hurry, though he had observed thatrich men were nearly always selfish where their time was concerned.Moreover, he considered that I ought first to have made inquiries as tohis present character and attainments, etc., etc.

  To this epistle I replied by telegraph to the effect that I should assoon think of making inquiries about the character of an archangel,or that of one of his High Church saints. This telegram, he told meafterwards, he considered unseemly and even ribald, especially as it hadgiven great offence to the postmaster, who was one of the sidesmen inhis church.

  Thus it came about that I appointed the Rev. Basil Bastin to theliving of Fulcombe, feeling sure that he would provide me with endlessamusement and act as a moral tonic and discipline. Also I appreciatedthe man's blunt candour. In due course he arrived, and I confess thatafter a few Sundays of experience I began to have doubts as to thewisdom of my choice, glad as I was to see him personally. His sermons atonce bored me, and, when they did not send me to sleep, excited in mea desire for debate. How could he be so profoundly acquainted withmysteries before which the world had stood amazed for ages? Was therenothing too hot or too heavy in the spiritual way for him to dismiss ina few blundering and casual words, as he might any ordinary incident ofevery-day life, I wondered? Also his idea of High Church observances wasnot mine, or, I imagine, that of anybody else. But I will not attempt toset it out.

  His peculiarities, however, were easy to excuse and entirely swallowedup by the innate goodness of his nature which soon made him beloved ofeveryone in the place, for although he thought that probably most thingswere sins, I never knew him to discover a sin which he considered to bebeyond the reach of forgiveness. Bastin was indeed a most charitable manand in his way wide-minded.

  The person whom I could not tolerate, however, was his wife, who, tomy fancy, more resembled a vessel, a very unattractive vessel, full ofvinegar than a woman. Her name was Sarah and she was small, plain, flat,sandy-haired and odious, quite obsessed, moreover, with her jealousiesof the Rev. Basil, at whom it pleased her to suppose that every woman inthe countryside under fifty was throwing herself.

  Here I will confess that to the best of my ability I took care that theydid in outward seeming, that is, whenever she was present, instructingthem to sit aside with him in darkened corners, to present him withflowers, and so forth. Several of them easily fell into the humour ofthe thing, and I have seen him depart from a dinner-party followed bythat glowering Sarah, with a handful of rosebuds and violets, to saynothing of the traditional offerings of slippers, embroidered markersand the like. Well, it was my only way of coming even with her, which Ithink she knew, for she hated me poisonously.

  So much for Basil Bastin. Now for Bickley. Him I had met on severaloccasions since our college days, and after I was settled at the Prioryfrom time to time I asked him to stay with me. At length he came, andI found out that he was not at all comfortable in his London practicewhich was of a nature uncongenial to him; further, that he did not geton with his partners. Then, after reflection, I made a suggestionto him. I pointed out that, owing to its popularity amongst seasidevisitors, the neighbourhood of Fulcombe was a rising one, and thatalthough there were doctors in it, there was no really first-classsurgeon for miles.

  Now Bickley was a first-class surgeon, having held very high hospitalappointments, and indeed still holding them. Why, I asked, should henot come and set up here on his own? I would appoint him doctor tothe estate and also give him charge of a cottage hospital which I wasendowing, with liberty to build and arrange it as he liked. Further, asI considered that it would be of great advantage to me to have a man ofreal ability within reach, I would guarantee for three years whateverincome he was earning in London.

  He thanked me warmly and in the end acted on the idea, with startlingresults so far as his prospects were concerned. Very soon his reallyremarkable skill became known and he was earning more money than as anunmarried man he could possibly want. Indeed, scarcely a big operationtook place at any town within twenty miles, and even much farther away,at which he was not called in to assist.

  Needless to say his advent was a great boon to me, for as he lived in ahouse I let him quite near by, whenever he had a spare evening he woulddrop in to dinner, and from our absolutely opposite standpoints wediscussed all things human and divine. Thus I was enabled to sharpenmy wits upon the hard steel of his clear intellect which was yet, in asense, so limited.

  I must add that I never converted him to my way of thinking and henever converted me to his, any more than he converted Bastin, forwhom, queerly enough, he had a liking. They pounded away at each other,Bickley frequently getting the best of it in the argument, and when atlast Bastin rose to go, he generally made the same remark. It was:

  "It really is sad, my dear Bickley, to find a man of your intellectso utterly wrongheaded and misguided. I have convicted you of error atleast half a dozen times, and not to confess it is mere pigheadedness.Good night. I am sure that Sarah will be sitting up for me."

  "Silly old idiot!" Bickley would say, shaking his fist after him. "Theonly way to get him to see the truth would be to saw his head open andpour it in."

  Then we would both laugh.

  Such were my two most intimate friends, although I admit it was ratherlike the equator cultivating close relationships with the north andsouth poles. Certainly Bastin was as far from Bickley as those pointsof the earth are apart, while I. as it were, sat equally distant betweenthe two. However, we were all very happy together, since in certaincharacters, there are few things that bind men more closely thanprofound differences of opinion.

  Now I must turn to my more personal affairs. After all, it is impossiblefor a man to satisfy his soul, if he has anything of the sort about himwhich in the remotest degree answers to that description, with the husksof wealth, luxury and indolence, supplemented by occasional theologicaland other arguments between his friends; Becoming profoundly convincedof this truth, I searched round for something to do and, like Noah'sdove on the waste of waters, found nothing. Then I asked Bickley
andBastin for their opinions as to my best future course. Bickley proved abarren draw. He rubbed his nose and feebly suggested that I might goin for "research work," which, of course, only represented his ownambitions. I asked him indignantly how I could do such a thing withoutany scientific qualifications whatever. He admitted the difficulty, butreplied that I might endow others who had the qualifications.

  "In short, become a mulch cow for sucking scientists," I replied, andbroke off the conversation.

  Bastin's idea was, first, that I should teach in a Sunday School;secondly, that if this career did not satisfy all my aspirations, Imight be ordained and become a missionary.

  On my rejection of this brilliant advice, he remarked that the onlyother thing he could think of was that I should get married and have alarge family, which might possibly advantage the nation and ultimatelyenrich the Kingdom of Heaven, though of such things no one couldbe quite sure. At any rate, he was certain that at present I was inpractice neglecting my duty, whatever it might be, and in fact one ofthose cumberers of the earth who, he observed in the newspaper he tookin and read when he had time, were "very happily named--the idle rich."

  "Which reminds me," he added, "that the clothing-club finances are ina perfectly scandalous condition; in fact, it is L25 in debt, an amountthat as the squire of the parish I consider it incumbent on you to makegood, not as a charity but as an obligation."

  "Look here, my friend," I said, ignoring all the rest, "will you answerme a plain question? Have you found marriage such a success that youconsider it your duty to recommend it to others? And if you have, whyhave you not got the large family of which you speak?"

  "Of course not," he replied with his usual frankness. "Indeed, it is inmany ways so disagreeable that I am convinced it must be right and forthe good of all concerned. As regards the family I am sure I do notknow, but Sarah never liked babies, which perhaps has something to dowith it."

  Then he sighed, adding, "You see, Arbuthnot, we have to take things aswe find them in this world and hope for a better."

  "Which is just what I am trying to do, you unilluminating old donkey!" Iexclaimed, and left him there shaking his head over matters in general,but I think principally over Sarah.

  By the way, I think that the villagers recognised this good lady'svinegary nature. At least, they used to call her "Sour Sal."