HOW TO ENTERTAIN STRANGERS.
It was long before Henry could get back. He had to convey Jane home, and
recover her to a safer state of mind, and then to communicate the
intelligence to Patience; and then,—more painful still,—to the young
woman whom he always regarded as Michael’s wife. At the end of four
hours, when it was nearly one in the morning, he knocked at the door of
his lodgings, and was instantly let in by his landlord. He perceived
that Mr. Price looked very sulky; and he could obtain no answer to his
enquiries about whether Mrs. Farrer had been uneasy at his not
returning. He bounded up stairs, and Marie was in his arms before he saw
how pale was her face, and how swollen her eyes. The fire burned dull,
the lamp only glimmered, and there was an air of indescribable confusion
in the room; so that, occupied as Henry was with what had happened, he
could not help feeling almost bewildered as to whether this was his
lodging or not.
“I thought you never, never would have come,” sobbed Marie.
“My love, there has been but too much reason for my staying so long.”
“But there was so much reason for your being at home! Henry, they have
carried away my father.”
Marie could not tell where they had taken him. She knew nothing of
English law and justice. She had had no one to help her; for Price
himself introduced the officers of justice; and Mrs. Price was so stiff
and cold in her manner, that Marie was obliged to leave off appealing to
her. All she knew was that some men walked in while her father was
reading, and she writing; that they showed a paper which her father did
not know the use of; searched every corner of the apartments, turning
every article of furniture out of its place, and taking possession at
last of a pocket-pistol, of beautiful workmanship, which M. Verblanc
valued as the gift of an old military friend. M. Verblanc himself was
also carried off, because he had not given notice to the magistrates of
having come to live in this place.
“How is this?” enquired Henry of Price who now entered the room. “The
arrest of aliens, and the search for weapons, can legally take place
only in the day time.”
“They reckon it day time in this sort of thing till nine o’clock, and it
wanted full ten minutes to nine when they came.”
“What did you know about this before I went out?” enquired Henry,
turning the light of the lamp full upon Price’s face.
“Only what most lodging-house keepers know in these days. I was called
upon to give an account in writing of all the aliens in my house.”
Henry conjectured very truly that the Prices were at the bottom of the
whole affair. Mrs. Price had a very vigorous imagination; and she had
given out among her neighbours that M. Verblanc was certainly a man of
high rank; that he scribbled over more writing paper than any body she
ever saw, except the gentleman that called himself his son-in-law; and
that the writing must be letters, because nobody ever knew what became
of it, and he went out regularly once a day,—no doubt to the
post-office, for he never was known to send letters there by any other
hand.
Marie was obliged to be comforted with the assurance that this arrest
would be only a temporary inconvenience; that such things were
constantly happening in these days; and that there was no doubt of her
father’s being released the next morning. Henry would go at the earliest
practicable hour, and he did not doubt of bringing M. Verblanc home with
him.
Before the earliest practicable hour, however, other engagements
occurred to prevent Henry’s executing his design. Price came in, while
the husband and wife were standing by the fire, mournfully discussing
their plans for this day when so much was to be done. Price wished to
give notice that he must have his rent this morning. He had gone without
it too long, and he had no intention of waiting any longer. Henry was
not aware that the time of payment was past. He understood that it was
to be quarterly: but Marie produced the little that she had laid by for
the purpose; and Henry was reminded to feel in his pocket for the
manuscripts that were to have been carried to their destination the
night before. They were gone. His pocket was empty.
Never mind! This was no time to think about disappointments in the way
of authorship; and, as for the gain,—it was but too probable that Henry
would presently have more money than he desired. Price seemed to have
some idea of this kind; but not the less did he give notice that his
lodgers must turn out at the end of the week. The rooms were already
let; so there was no use in saying any thing about it. Henry could only
suppose that tidings of Michael’s death, and the manner of it, had
reached the house, and that it was concluded that, as the one brother
had been a smuggler, the other must be a swindler.
Before Price was out of the room, came the printer’s man for the
manuscript which had been lost. While he was still shaking his head over
Marie’s calculation of how soon she could make another copy from the
short-hand notes she had happily preserved, the matter was settled by
the publisher sending to ask for the last Greek proof Henry had had to
correct, and to give notice that this was his final transaction with Mr.
Farrer, who need not trouble himself to write any thing more for the
publication of which he had been the chief support. No further
communication from his pen would be accepted. A receipt in form for the
money now sent was requested and given, and the cash immediately paid
over to Price in discharge of the remainder of the rent. The few
shillings left were, when the husband and wife were alone again, pushed
from one to the other with the strange impulse of mirth which often
arises under the extremest pressure of vexation and sorrow.
“Marie, what do you think of all this?” asked her husband, meeting her
eye, which was fixed wistfully upon him.
“I think that if my poor countrymen have their errors, the English have
at least their whims. It is at least remarkable that on this morning,
when there is so much to call you abroad, one after another should come
to keep you at home.”
“Very remarkable!” was all that Henry said before he relapsed into
reverie. He roused himself, and snatched up his hat, assuring his wife,
however, that it was yet, he believed, too early for him to obtain
access to her father, or justice on his behalf. He had not proceeded far
down stairs when he was met by three gentlemen, who requested two
minutes’ conversation with him. They came to invite him to be present at
a meeting to be held for the purpose of declaring attachment to the
constitution.
“Impossible, gentlemen. You are not aware that my only brother died
suddenly last night. I cannot appear needlessly in public to-day.”
And he would have bowed them out; but they had something more to say
than condolence. As his attending the meeting was thus unfortunately
rendered impossible, perhaps he would sign the address to his Majesty.
“That will depend on what it contains. I own I do not see the immediate
occasion for such a protestation; but if the address should express what
I think and feel, I shall have no objection to put my name to it.”
The spokesman conceived that, as every true Englishman must be attached
to the constitution, there could be no risk to any true Englishman in
engaging to declare his attachment.
“Certainly, sir, if we were all agreed as to what the constitution is;
but this is the very point on which men differ. One person thinks that a
dozen or two of trials and transportations of ignorant and educated men
for sedition, and a doubling of the taxes, and an overawing of the House
of Commons, are measures of support to the constitution; while others
consider them as violations. Therefore I must fully understand what is
involved in the address before I sign it; and can, in the mean time,
pledge myself to nothing, gentlemen.”
The visitors looked at one another, and departed,—one sighing, another
giggling, and the third looking back till the last moment,—like a child
who is bidden to look at a traitor, and almost expects to see him turn
into some rare animal,—a Turk or an ourang-outang.
This time Henry got as far as the house-door. There he was turned back
by the commissioners who were employed in making the returns for the
income tax. In vain Henry assured them that he had hitherto had no
income, and that, as soon as he could ascertain whether he was to have
any of his brother’s money, and how much, he would let the gentlemen
know. They were not content with assertions given in the street, and, as
Henry had no doubt of finally satisfying them in two minutes, he invited
them up stairs.
“You are aware, sir, that we are sworn to the most inviolable secrecy as
to the affairs of individuals; that we are empowered, when dissatisfied,
to call for written explanations of the resources of living, and even to
impose an oath, if necessary.”
“Very needful precautions, I should think, considering how strong is the
temptation to concealment and fraud, and how very easy evasion must be
in a great number of cases. Very necessary precautions, if they could
but be effectual.”
“Effectual, sir! Do you suppose we shall violate our oath of secrecy?”
“By no means; but it is impossible that confidence should not often be
reciprocally shaken, when the affairs of individuals are thus
involuntarily exposed. This inquisition is a heavy grievance, indeed,
and it opens the door to a very pernicious use of influence.”
“Well, sir, every tax must have its disadvantages; and when a large
revenue must be raised——”
“True; every tax is bad, in one way or another; yet, taxes there must
be. I do not know that there can be a better than an income tax, if it
can be fairly raised, and duly proportioned to the tenure of incomes. If
I find myself soon in possession of an income, I shall offer my
proportion with pleasure; you will not need to impose the oath on me.
But I do wish, as this tax affords the means, as you say, of raising a
large revenue,—I do wish that we were relieved of some of our indirect
taxes. An income tax may be very cheerfully borne when it is imposed
instead of the indirect taxes which fall so unequally as we know they
do; but the same tax may be felt as a heavy grievance when it is imposed
in addition,—filling up the measure of hardship. Now, we have a load of
partial taxes which can be conveniently paid; and also a fair tax,—fair
in principle,—which must be vexatiously levied. Let us have the one or
the other, but not both.”
“But, Mr. Farrer, you are aware that the evils of this income tax will
be lessened perpetually. We are now just in the bustle and confusion of
making new returns; but when we can establish a system of ascertainment
of the wages of various employments, and the interests upon loans, and
the averages of capital invested by the commercial men in our
districts,—in somewhat the same manner as we can already learn the
rental of landlords from the terms of their leases, and the profits of
the tenants from the proportion profits are considered to bear to rent,—
when this is arranged, there will be much less occasion for vexatious
questioning.”
“And much less facility of evasion. Very true. After all, this tax is a
violation of a subordinate rule of taxation, while our indirect taxes
violate the first and chief. In fact, it seems to me to violate only
that which regards the convenience of the contributors as to the mode of
payment; while it agrees with the principle,—to equalize the
contributions; with another,—to make the amount, and the time and manner
certain; and with a third,—to keep out of the pockets of the people as
little as possible over and above what goes into the treasury. Whenever
I have an income, I had much rather see you on an appointed day, and pay
my portion as I would pay my house-rent, knowing that what I pay goes
straight to its professed destination, than be treated like a child, and
inveigled into paying a little here and a little there, without knowing
it; or, if knowing it, with a pretty strong assurance that plenty of
pockets are gaping to swallow some of it by the way.”
Marie thought this was like sweetening physic for a child. She wondered
that, in a nation of men, such devices should be allowed to be still
enacted.
“We are not yet a nation of men, my dear, because we are not yet an
educated nation. These taxes on commodities are taxes on ignorance.
When, as a nation, we grow wise enough to settle rationally what we
shall spend, and why, and how, we shall grow manly enough to come
forward with our contribution, instead of letting it be filched from us
while we are winking.”
“And yet, sir, it is the rich, and not the ignorant who complain of this
new tax, and are all in favour of the old system. They had rather pay
double for their tea and their wine than have more money raised in this
new way.”
“Yes; no doubt. And the poor man had much rather have his bread and beer
bear their natural price, and pay his taxes out of his wages. Thus he is
sure of paying no more than his due; while the rich man will be properly
compelled to contribute in proportion to the protection he derives from
government. He owes so much more than the poor man to the state which
guards his greater substance, that it is most unfair to leave his
payment to the chance of how much wine, and tea, and other articles he
may consume. He cannot himself consume more bread and beer than his poor
neighbour; and it is a matter of choice whether he shall keep servants
to consume much more. Such choice ought not to be left, when the
alternative is the poor man paying the more for the rich man’s spending
less.”
“Why, indeed, it cannot be justified that the cobbler who patches a
miser’s shoes should pay fifty per cent. to the state, when the miser
himself pays only one per cent. If it be a good rule,—(and it is the
rule on which we proceed, sir,)—that a just taxation will leave
individuals in the same relation in which it found them, the advantage
will be entirely on the side of the measure we have now in hand.”
“And then comes the question whether there may not be a better tax
still. An income tax is immeasurably better than a system of indirect
taxation; but there may be means of avoiding the inequalities which
remain even under the improved system. If you once begin to graduate
your income tax according to the value of the tenure of incomes——”
“Why, it is hard that the physician, whose large income expires on his
becoming infirm, should pay more than the fundholder or landowner, whose
income is permanently yielded to himself and his children.”
“And then, from the fundholders, you must except those who hold
terminable annuities. Five per cent. is a much larger payment from a man
whose income is to terminate in ten or twenty years, than five per cent.
would be from the owner of land. And again; if you lay a tax of five per
cent. on the labourers’ wages, the tax falls upon the capital; for the
wages must rise just so much as the tax amounts to. It follows of course
that the receiver of rent ought to pay a higher per centage, because the
capitalist pays for himself and his labourers too. Now, if we once begin
making these modifications, (which justice requires,) it seems the most
direct and efficacious method to have a property tax; _i. e._, to tax
those incomes which are derived from invested capital. Ah! I see you
shake your heads; I see what you would say about the difficulty of
defining what is property; and the hardship in a few cases,—as in those
of small annuitants; and the tendency,—the very slight,—the practically
imperceptible tendency to check accumulation. We agreed before that all
taxes are bad; that there are some difficulties attending all.”
“But do not you allow these evils, sir?”
“I do; but I hold them to be so much smaller than those we have been
submitting to all this while as to be almost lost in the comparison,—
except for the difficulty that there always is in changing taxes. As for
the defining of what property is, distinctions have been made quite as
subtle as between investments that are too transient to come under the
title of property, and those that are not; between the landlord’s
possession of a field that yields rent, and the tenant’s investment in
marl which is to fertilize it for a season or two. Wherever legislation
interferes with the gains of industry, nice distinctions have to be
made; and this case will hardly rival our excise regulations. As for the
small annuitants, though their case may be a less favourable one than
that of richer men, it will be a far more favourable one than it is now,
when their small incomes must yield enormously to the state through the
commodities they buy. As for the tendency to check accumulation, it is
also nothing in comparison with that which at present exists. What can
check accumulation so much as the enhancement of the price of every
thing that the capitalist and labourer must buy, when part of the added
price goes to pay for the trouble and trickery attendant on a roundabout
method of taxation? No, no. While, besides this enhancement of price,
five or six sevenths of the taxation of the kingdom is borne by the
labouring and accumulating classes, I cannot think that our capital
would grow the slower for the burden being shifted upon the class of
proprietors who can best afford the contribution, which would, after
all, leave them in the same relation to other individuals in which it
found them.”
“It would certainly issue in that equality, since income from skill and
labour would proportion itself presently to the amount of property. The
physician who received a guinea-fee from the till now lightly-taxed
proprietor, would then receive a pound; and so on, through all
occupations. All would enjoy the relief from the diminished cost of
collection, as I hope we shall all do under our present commission, sir.
Well, you will not oblige us to put you upon your oath as to your amount
of income. You really have not an income above 60_l._ a year, Mr.
Farrer? that is our lowest denomination, sir; we tax none under 60_l._ a
year.”
“If you choose to swear me, you may; but my wife and I can assure you
that we have no income beyond the few guineas that I may chance to earn
from week to week. We have not been married many months; and we have
never dared yet to think of such a thing as a regular yearly income.
Well, it might be imprudent; but that is all over, I believe. If I find
that I now am to have money——”
The commissioners disclaimed all intention of judging the principles or
impulses under which Henry’s matrimonial affairs had proceeded,—hoped to
hear from him soon, if their good wishes should be fulfilled, and left
him looking at his watch, and assuring Marie that even yet it was very
early.
“But who are these?” cried the unhappy lady, as two men entered the
room, without the ceremony of bowing, with which the late visiters had
departed. “My husband, there is a conspiracy against us!”
“I believe there is, Marie: but the innocent can in this country
confound conspiracies.”
Henry was arrested on a charge of seditious words spoken at divers
times; and also, of not having given due notice of an alien residing
within the realm without complying with the provisions of the Alien Act.
The word “sedition” sounded fearful to Marie, who had talked over with
her husband, again and again, the fates of Muir and Palmer, of Frost and
Winterbottom, and many other victims of the tyranny of the minister of
that day. Her first thought was,
“They will send you to Botany Bay. But I will go with you.”
Henry smilingly told her he should not have to trouble her to get ready
to go so far, he believed; but if she would put on her bonnet now, he
had no doubt she would be permitted to accompany him, and learn for
herself where the mistake lay which had led to this absurd arrest.
She went accordingly, trembling,—but making a great effort to shed no
tears. In those days of tyrannical and vaguely-expressed laws, of dread
and prejudice in high places, a prisoner’s fate depended mainly on the
strength and clearness of mind of the magistrate before whom he might be
brought. Henry was fortunate in this respect.
Some surprising stories were told,—newer to Henry and Marie than to
anybody else,—of Henry’s disaffection,—of his having dined with old
college friends who, to the disgrace of their education, had toasted the
French republic, and laughed as the king’s health was proposed; of his
having been overheard asking how the people could help hating a
government which had Mr. Pitt at the head of it, and talked vehemently
with some foreigners in praise of equality; and of his having finally
refused to declare his attachment to the constitution.
This story was not very formidable when it was first told; and after the
magistrate had questioned the witnesses, and heard Henry’s own plain
statement, he believed that no ground remained for commitment, or for
asking bail. Not a single seditious word could be sworn to; and, as to
any imprudent ones that might have been dropped, the assertions of the
witnesses were much more imprudent, inasmuch as they could in no way be
made to agree with themselves or one another. This charge was dismissed,
and Marie found she should not have to go to Botany Bay.
The other accusation was better substantiated. M. Verblanc had forgotten
to give the required account of himself when he had changed his
residence, and it had never occurred to Henry to lodge an information
against him, though he knew, (if he had happened to recollect,) that the
forms of the alien law had not been complied with. The magistrate had no
alternative but to fine him, and, as the amount was not forthcoming, to
commit him to prison till the fine should be paid.
Marie’s duty was now clear. She must go to Henry’s sisters, and obtain
the money from them, in order to set her husband free to assist her
father.