CHAPTER LV.
CLERICAL CHARITIES.
Melmotte's success, and Melmotte's wealth, and Melmotte's antecedentswere much discussed down in Suffolk at this time. He had been seenthere in the flesh, and there is no believing like that which comesfrom sight. He had been staying at Caversham, and many in those partsknew that Miss Longestaffe was now living in his house in London.The purchase of the Pickering estate had also been noticed in allthe Suffolk and Norfolk newspapers. Rumours, therefore, of his pastfrauds, rumour also as to the instability of his presumed fortune,were as current as those which declared him to be by far the richestman in England. Miss Melmotte's little attempt had also beencommunicated in the papers; and Sir Felix, though he was notrecognised as being "real Suffolk" himself, was so far connectedwith Suffolk by name as to add something to this feeling of realityrespecting the Melmottes generally. Suffolk is very old-fashioned.Suffolk, taken as a whole, did not like the Melmotte fashion.Suffolk, which is, I fear, persistently and irrecoverablyConservative, did not believe in Melmotte as a Conservative Memberof Parliament. Suffolk on this occasion was rather ashamed of theLongestaffes, and took occasion to remember that it was barely theother day, as Suffolk counts days, since the original Longestaffe wasin trade. This selling of Pickering, and especially the selling ofit to Melmotte, was a mean thing. Suffolk, as a whole, thoroughlybelieved that Melmotte had picked the very bones of every shareholderin that Franco-Austrian Assurance Company.
Mr. Hepworth was over with Roger one morning, and they were talkingabout him,--or talking rather of the attempted elopement. "I knownothing about it," said Roger, "and I do not intend to ask. Of courseI did know when they were down here that he hoped to marry her, and Idid believe that she was willing to marry him. But whether the fatherhad consented or not I never enquired."
"It seems he did not consent."
"Nothing could have been more unfortunate for either of them thansuch a marriage. Melmotte will probably be in the 'Gazette' beforelong, and my cousin not only has not a shilling, but could not keepone if he had it."
"You think Melmotte will turn out a failure."
"A failure! Of course he's a failure, whether rich or poor;--amiserable imposition, a hollow vulgar fraud from beginning toend,--too insignificant for you and me to talk of, were it not thathis position is a sign of the degeneracy of the age. What are wecoming to when such as he is an honoured guest at our tables?"
"At just a table here and there," suggested his friend.
"No;--it is not that. You can keep your house free from him, and socan I mine. But we set no example to the nation at large. They who doset the example go to his feasts, and of course he is seen at theirsin return. And yet these leaders of the fashion know,--at any ratethey believe,--that he is what he is because he has been a swindlergreater than other swindlers. What follows as a natural consequence?Men reconcile themselves to swindling. Though they themselves meanto be honest, dishonesty of itself is no longer odious to them. Thenthere comes the jealousy that others should be growing rich with theapproval of all the world,--and the natural aptitude to do what allthe world approves. It seems to me that the existence of a Melmotteis not compatible with a wholesome state of things in general."
Roger dined with the Bishop of Elmham that evening, and the same herowas discussed under a different heading. "He has given L200," saidthe Bishop, "to the Curates' Aid Society. I don't know that a mancould spend his money much better than that."
"Clap-trap!" said Roger, who in his present mood was very bitter.
"The money is not clap-trap, my friend. I presume that the money isreally paid."
"I don't feel at all sure of that."
"Our collectors for clerical charities are usually stern men,--veryready to make known defalcations on the part of promisingsubscribers. I think they would take care to get the money during theelection."
"And you think that money got in that way redounds to his credit?"
"Such a gift shows him to be a useful member of society,--and I amalways for encouraging useful men."
"Even though their own objects may be vile and pernicious?"
"There you beg ever so many questions, Mr. Carbury. Mr. Melmottewishes to get into Parliament, and if there would vote on the sidewhich you at any rate approve. I do not know that his object in thatrespect is pernicious. And as a seat in Parliament has been a matterof ambition to the best of our countrymen for centuries, I do notknow why we should say that it is vile in this man." Roger frownedand shook his head. "Of course Mr. Melmotte is not the sort ofgentleman whom you have been accustomed to regard as a fitting memberfor a Conservative constituency. But the country is changing."
"It's going to the dogs, I think;--about as fast as it can go."
"We build churches much faster than we used to do."
"Do we say our prayers in them when we have built them?" asked theSquire.
"It is very hard to see into the minds of men," said the Bishop;"but we can see the results of their minds' work. I think that menon the whole do live better lives than they did a hundred years ago.There is a wider spirit of justice abroad, more of mercy from one toanother, a more lively charity, and if less of religious enthusiasm,less also of superstition. Men will hardly go to heaven, Mr. Carbury,by following forms only because their fathers followed the same formsbefore them."
"I suppose men will go to heaven, my Lord, by doing as they would bedone by."
"There can be no safer lesson. But we must hope that some may besaved even if they have not practised at all times that grandself-denial. Who comes up to that teaching? Do you not wish for,nay, almost demand, instant pardon for any trespass that you maycommit,--of temper, or manner, for instance? and are you always readyto forgive in that way yourself? Do you not writhe with indignationat being wrongly judged by others who condemn you without knowingyour actions or the causes of them; and do you never judge othersafter that fashion?"
"I do not put myself forward as an example."
"I apologise for the personal form of my appeal. A clergyman is aptto forget that he is not in the pulpit. Of course I speak of men ingeneral. Taking society as a whole, the big and the little, the richand the poor, I think that it grows better from year to year, and notworse. I think, too, that they who grumble at the times, as Horacedid, and declare that each age is worse than its forerunner, lookonly at the small things beneath their eyes, and ignore the course ofthe world at large."
"But Roman freedom and Roman manners were going to the dogs whenHorace wrote."
"But Christ was about to be born, and men were already being made fitby wider intelligence for Christ's teaching. And as for freedom, hasnot freedom grown, almost every year, from that to this?"
"In Rome they were worshipping just such men as this Melmotte. Do youremember the man who sat upon the seats of the knights and scouredthe Via Sacra with his toga, though he had been scourged from pillarto post for his villainies? I always think of that man when I hearMelmotte's name mentioned. Hoc, hoc tribuno militum! Is this the manto be Conservative member for Westminster?"
"Do you know of the scourges, as a fact?"
"I think I know that they are deserved."
"That is hardly doing to others as you would be done by. If the manis what you say, he will surely be found out at last, and the day ofhis punishment will come. Your friend in the ode probably had a badtime of it, in spite of his farms and his horses. The world perhapsis managed more justly than you think, Mr. Carbury."
"My Lord, I believe you're a Radical at heart," said Roger, as hetook his leave.
"Very likely,--very likely. Only don't say so to the Prime Minister,or I shall never get any of the better things which may be going."
The Bishop was not hopelessly in love with a young lady, and wastherefore less inclined to take a melancholy view of things ingeneral than Roger Carbury. To Roger everything seemed to be outof joint. He had that morning received a letter from Lady Carbury,reminding him of the promise of a loan, should a time come to herof gr
eat need. It had come very quickly. Roger Carbury did not inthe least begrudge the hundred pounds which he had already sent tohis cousin; but he did begrudge any furtherance afforded to theiniquitous schemes of Sir Felix. He felt all but sure that thefoolish mother had given her son money for his abortive attempt, andthat therefore this appeal had been made to him. He alluded to nosuch fear in his letter. He simply enclosed the cheque, and expresseda hope that the amount might suffice for the present emergency. Buthe was disheartened and disgusted by all the circumstances of theCarbury family. There was Paul Montague, bringing a woman such asMrs. Hurtle down to Lowestoft, declaring his purpose of continuinghis visits to her, and, as Roger thought, utterly unable to freehimself from his toils,--and yet, on this man's account, Hetta wascold and hard to him. He was conscious of the honesty of his ownlove, sure that he could make her happy,--confident, not in himself,but in the fashion and ways of his own life. What would be Hetta'slot if her heart was really given to Paul Montague?
When he got home, he found Father Barham sitting in his library. Anaccident had lately happened at Father Barham's own establishment.The wind had blown the roof off his cottage; and Roger Carbury,though his affection for the priest was waning, had offered himshelter while the damage was being repaired. Shelter at Carbury Manorwas very much more comfortable than the priest's own establishment,even with the roof on, and Father Barham was in clover. Father Barhamwas reading his own favourite newspaper, "The Surplice," when Rogerentered the room. "Have you seen this, Mr. Carbury?" he said.
"What's this? I am not likely to have seen anything that belongspeculiarly to 'The Surplice.'"
"That's the prejudice of what you are pleased to call the AnglicanChurch. Mr. Melmotte is a convert to our faith. He is a great man,and will perhaps be one of the greatest known on the face of theglobe."
"Melmotte a convert to Romanism! I'll make you a present of him, andthank you to take him; but I don't believe that we've any such goodriddance."
Then Father Barham read a paragraph out of "The Surplice." "Mr.Augustus Melmotte, the great financier and capitalist, has presenteda hundred guineas towards the erection of an altar for the new churchof St. Fabricius, in Tothill Fields. The donation was accompaniedby a letter from Mr. Melmotte's secretary, which leaves but littledoubt that the new member for Westminster will be a member, and noinconsiderable member, of the Catholic party in the House, during thenext session."
"That's another dodge, is it?" said Carbury.
"What do you mean by a dodge, Mr. Carbury? Because money is given fora pious object of which you do not happen to approve, must it be adodge?"
"But, my dear Father Barham, the day before the same great man gaveL200 to the Protestant Curates' Aid Society. I have just left theBishop exulting in this great act of charity."
"I don't believe a word of it;--or it may be a parting gift to theChurch to which he belonged in his darkness."
"And you would be really proud of Mr. Melmotte as a convert?"
"I would be proud of the lowest human being that has a soul," saidthe priest; "but of course we are glad to welcome the wealthy and thegreat."
"The great! oh dear!"
"A man is great who has made for himself such a position as that ofMr. Melmotte. And when such a one leaves your Church and joins ourown, it is a great sign to us that the Truth is prevailing." RogerCarbury, without another word, took his candle and went to bed.
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