THE DEAN AS A SPORTING MAN.
In Brotherton the Dean's performance in the run from Cross Hall Holt
was almost as much talked of as Mrs. Houghton's accident. There had
been rumours of things that he had done in the same line after taking
orders, when a young man,--of runs that he had ridden, and even of
visits which he had made to Newmarket and other wicked places. But, as
far as Brotherton knew, there had been nothing of all this since the
Dean had been a dean. Though he was constantly on horseback, he had
never been known to do more than perhaps look at a meet, and it was
understood through Brotherton generally that he had forbidden his
daughter to hunt. But now, no sooner was his daughter married, and the
necessity of setting an example to her at an end, than the Dean, with a
rosette in his hat,--for so the story was told,--was after the hounds
like a sporting farmer or a mere country gentleman! On the very next
day Mr. Groschut told the whole story to the Bishop. But Mr. Groschut
had not seen the performance, and the Bishop affected to disbelieve it.
"I'm afraid, my lord," said the chaplain, "I'm afraid you'll find it's
true." "If he rides after every pack of dogs in the county, I don't
know that I can help it," said the Bishop. With this Mr. Groschut was
by no means inclined to agree. A bishop is as much entitled to cause
inquiries to be made into the moral conduct of a dean as of any country
clergyman in his diocese. "Suppose he were to take to gambling on the
turf," said Mr. Groschut, with much horror expressed in his tone and
countenance. "But riding after a pack of dogs isn't gambling on the
turf," said the Bishop, who, though he would have liked to possess the
power of putting down the Dean, by no means relished the idea of being
beaten in an attempt to do so.
And Mr. Canon Holdenough heard of it. "My dear," he said to his wife,
"Manor Cross is coming out strong in the sporting way. Not only is Mrs.
Houghton laid up there with a broken limb, but your brother's
father-in-law took the brush on the same day."
"The Dean!" said Lady Alice.
"So they tell me."
"He was always so particular in not letting Mary ride over a single
fence. He would hardly let her go to a meet on horseback."
"Many fathers do what they won't let their daughters do. The Dean has
been always giving signs that he would like to break out a little."
"Can they do anything to him?"
"Oh dear no;--not if he was to hunt a pack of hounds himself, as far as
I know."
"But I suppose it's wrong, Canon," said the clerical wife.
"Yes; I think it's wrong because it will scandalise. Everything that
gives offence is wrong, unless it be something that is on other grounds
expedient. If it be true we shall hear about it a good deal here, and
it will not contribute to brotherly love and friendship among us
clergymen."
There was another canon at Brotherton, one Dr. Pountner, a red-faced
man, very fond of his dinner, a man of infinite pluck, and much
attached to the Cathedral, towards the reparation of which he had
contributed liberally. And, having an ear for music, he had done much
to raise the character of the choir. Though Dr. Pountner's sermons were
supposed to be the worst ever heard from the pulpit of the Cathedral,
he was, on account of the above good deeds, the most popular clergyman
in the city. "So I'm told you've been distinguishing yourself, Mr.
Dean," said the Doctor, meeting our friend in the close.
"Have I done so lately, more than is usual with me?" asked the Dean,
who had not hitherto heard of the rumour of his performances.
"I am told that you were so much ahead the other day in the hunting
field, that you were unable to give assistance to the poor lady who
broke her arm."
"Oh, that's it! If I do anything at all, though I may do it but once in
a dozen years, I like to do it well, Dr. Pountner. I wish I thought
that you could follow my example, and take a little exercise. It would
be very good for you." The Doctor was a heavy man, and hardly walked
much beyond the confines of the Close or his own garden. Though a bold
man, he was not so ready as the Dean, and had no answer at hand. "Yes,"
continued our friend, "I did go a mile or two with them, and I enjoyed
it amazingly. I wish with all my heart there was no prejudice against
clergymen hunting."
"I think it would be an abominable practise," said Dr. Pountner,
passing on.
The Dean himself would have thought nothing more about it had there not
appeared a few lines on the subject in a weekly newspaper called the
"Brotherton Church," which was held to be a pestilential little rag by
all the Close. Deans, canons, and minor canons were all agreed as to
this, Dr. Pountner hating the "Brotherton Church" quite as sincerely as
did the Dean. The "Brotherton Church" was edited nominally by a
certain Mr. Grease,--a very pious man who had long striven, but
hitherto in vain, to get orders. But it was supposed by many that the
paper was chiefly inspired by Mr. Groschut. It was always very
laudatory of the Bishop. It had distinguished itself by its elaborate
opposition to ritual. Its mission was to put down popery in the diocese
of Brotherton. It always sneered at the Chapter generally, and very
often said severe things of the Dean. On this occasion the paragraph
was as follows; "There is a rumour current that Dean Lovelace was out
with the Brotherton foxhounds last Wednesday, and that he rode with the
pack all the day, leading the field. We do not believe this, but we
hope that for the sake of the Cathedral and for his own sake, he will
condescend to deny the report." On the next Saturday there was another
paragraph, with a reply from the Dean; "We have received from the Dean
of Brotherton the following startling letter, which we publish without
comment. What our opinion on the subject may be our readers will
understand.
"Deanery, November, 187--
"Sir,--You have been correctly informed that I was out with the
Brotherton foxhounds on Wednesday week last. The other reports
which you have published, and as to which after publication, you
have asked for information, are unfortunately incorrect. I wish I
could have done as well as my enemies accuse me of doing.
"I am, Sir,
"Your humble servant,
"HENRY LOVELACE.
"To the Editor of the 'Brotherton Church.'"
The Dean's friends were unanimous in blaming him for having taken any
notice of the attack. The Bishop, who was at heart an honest man and a
gentleman, regretted it. All the Chapter were somewhat ashamed of it.
The Minor Canons were agreed that it was below the dignity of a dean.
Dr. Pountner, who had not yet forgotten the allusion to his obesity,
whispered in some clerical ear that nothing better could be expected
out of a stable; and Canon Holdenough, who really liked the Dean in
spite of certain differences of opinion, expostulated with him about
it.
"I would have let it pass," said the Canon. "Why notice it at all?"
"Because I would not have any one suppose that I was afraid to notice
it. Because I would not have it thought that I had gone out with the
hounds and was ashamed of what I had done."
"Nobody who knows you would have thought that."
"I am proud to think that nobody who knows me would. I make as many
mistakes as another, and am sorry for them afterwards. But I am never
ashamed. I'll tell you what happened, not to justify my hunting, but
to justify my letter. I was over at Manor Cross, and I went to the
meet, because Mary went. I have not done such a thing before since I
came to Brotherton, because there is,--what I will call a feeling
against it. When I was there I rode a field or two with them, and I can
tell you I enjoyed it."
"I daresay you did."
"Then, very soon after the fox broke, there was that brook at which
Mrs. Houghton hurt herself. I happened to jump it, and the thing became
talked about because of her accident. After that we came out on the
Brotherton road, and I went back to Manor Cross. Do not suppose that I
should have been ashamed of myself if I had gone on even half a dozen
more fields."
"I'm sure you wouldn't."
"The thing in itself is not bad. Nevertheless,--thinking as the world
around us does about hunting,--a clergyman in my position would be
wrong to hunt often. But a man who can feel horror at such a thing as
this is a prig in religion. If, as is more likely, a man affects
horror, he is a hypocrite. I believe that most clergymen will agree
with me in that; but there is no clergyman in the diocese of whose
agreement I feel more certain than of yours."
"It is the letter, not the hunting, to which I object."
"There was an apparent cowardice in refraining from answering such an
attack. I am aware, Canon, of a growing feeling of hostility to
myself."
"Not in the Chapter?"
"In the diocese. And I know whence it comes, and I think I understand
its cause. Let what will come of it I am not going to knock under. I
want to quarrel with no man, and certainly with no clergyman,--but I am
not going to be frightened out of my own manner of life or my own
manner of thinking by fear of a quarrel."
"Nobody doubts your courage; but what is the use of fighting when there
is nothing to win. Let that wretched newspaper alone. It is beneath you
and me, Dean."
"Very much beneath us, and so is your butler beneath you. But if he
asks you a question, you answer him. To tell the truth I would rather
they should call me indiscreet than timid. If I did not feel that it
would be really wrong and painful to my friends I would go out hunting
three days next week, to let them know that I am not to be cowed."
There was a good deal said at Manor Cross about the newspaper
correspondence, and some condemnation of the Dean expressed by the
ladies, who thought that he had lowered himself by addressing a reply
to the editor. In the heat of discussion a word or two was spoken by
Lady Susanna,--who entertained special objections to all things
low,--which made Mary very angry. "I think papa is at any rate a better
judge than you can be," she said. Between sisters as sisters generally
are, or even sisters-in-laws, this would not be much; but at Manor
Cross it was felt to be misconduct. Mary was so much younger than they
were! And then she was the grand-daughter of a tradesman! No doubt they
all thought that they were willing to admit her among themselves on
terms of equality; but then there was a feeling among them that she
ought to repay this great goodness by a certain degree of humility and
submission. From day to day the young wife strengthened herself in a
resolution that she would not be humble and would not be submissive.
Lady Susanna, when she heard the words, drew herself up with an air of
offended dignity. "Mary, dear," said Lady Sarah, "is not that a little
unkind?"
"I think it is unkind to say that papa is indiscreet," said the Dean's
daughter. "I wonder what you'd all think if I were to say a word
against dear mamma." She had been specially instructed to call the
Marchioness mamma.
"The Dean is not my father-in-law," said Lady Amelia, very proudly, as
though in making the suggestion, she begged it to be understood that
under no circumstances could such a connection have been possible.
"But he's my papa, and I shall stand up for him,--and I do say that he
must know more about such things than any lady." Then Lady Susanna got
up and marched majestically out of the room.
Lord George was told of this, and found himself obliged to speak to his
wife. "I'm afraid there has been something between you and Susanna,
dear."
"She abused papa, and I told her papa knew better than she did, and
then she walked out of the room."
"I don't suppose she meant to--abuse the Dean."
"She called him names."
"She said he was indiscreet."
"That is calling him names."
"No, my dear, indiscreet is an epithet; and even were it a noun
substantive, as a name must be, it could only be one name." It was
certainly very hard to fall in love with a man who could talk about
epithets so very soon after his marriage; but yet she would go on
trying. "Dear George," she said, "don't you scold me. I will do
anything you tell me, but I don't like them to say hard things of papa.
You are not angry with me for taking papa's part, are you?"
He kissed her, and told her that he was not in the least angry with
her; but, nevertheless, he went on to insinuate, that if she could
bring herself to show something of submission to his sisters, it would
make her own life happier and theirs and his. "I would do anything I
could to make your life happy," she said.