MR. ROBARTS ON HIS EMBASSY.
Mr. Robarts was not altogether easy in his mind as he approached Mr.
Crawley's house. He was aware that the task before him was a very
difficult one, and he had not confidence in himself,--that he was
exactly the man fitted for the performance of such a task. He was a
little afraid of Mr. Crawley, acknowledging tacitly to himself that
the man had a power of ascendancy with which he would hardly be able
to cope successfully. In old days he had once been rebuked by Mr.
Crawley, and had been cowed by the rebuke; and though there was no
touch of rancour in his heart on this account, no slightest remaining
venom,--but rather increased respect and friendship,--still he
was unable to overcome the remembrance of the scene in which the
perpetual curate of Hogglestock had undoubtedly had the mastery
of him. So, when two dogs have fought and one has conquered, the
conquered dog will always show an unconscious submission to the
conqueror.
He hailed a boy on the road as he drew near to the house, knowing
that he would find no one at the parsonage to hold his horse for him,
and was thus able without delay to walk through the garden and knock
at the door. "Papa was not at home," Jane said. "Papa was at the
school. But papa could certainly be summoned. She herself would run
across to the school if Mr. Robarts would come in." So Mr. Robarts
entered, and found Mrs. Crawley in the sitting-room. Mr. Crawley
would be in directly, she said. And then, hurrying on to the subject
with confused haste, in order that a word or two might be spoken
before her husband came back, she expressed her thanks and his for
the good things which had been sent to them at Christmas-tide.
"It's old Lady Lufton's doings," said Mr. Robarts, trying to laugh
the matter over.
"I knew that it came from Framley, Mr. Robarts, and I know how good
you all are there. I have not written to thank Lady Lufton. I thought
it better not to write. Your sister will understand why, if no one
else does. But you will tell them from me, I am sure, that it was, as
they intended, a comfort to us. Your sister knows too much of us for
me to suppose that our great poverty can be secret from her. And, as
far as I am concerned, I do not now much care who knows it."
"There is no disgrace in not being rich," said Mr. Robarts.
"No; and the feeling of disgrace which does attach itself to being so
poor as we are is deadened by the actual suffering which such poverty
brings with it. At least it has become so with me. I am not ashamed
to say that I am very grateful for what you all have done for us at
Framley. But you must not say anything to him about that."
"Of course I will not, Mrs. Crawley."
"His spirit is higher than mine, I think, and he suffers more from
the natural disinclination which we all have to receiving alms. Are
you going to speak to him about this affair of the--cheque, Mr.
Robarts?"
"I am going to ask him to put his case into some lawyer's hands."
"Oh! I wish he would!"
"And will he not?"
"It is very kind of you, your coming to ask him, but--"
"Has he so strong an objection?"
"He will tell you that he has no money to pay a lawyer."
"But, surely, if he were convinced that it was absolutely necessary
for the vindication of his innocence, he would submit to charge
himself with an expense so necessary, not only for himself, but for
his family?"
"He will say it ought not to be necessary. You know, Mr. Robarts,
that in some respects he is not like other men. You will not let what
I say of him set you against him?"
"Indeed, no."
"It is most kind of you to make the attempt. He will be here
directly, and when he comes I will leave you together."
While she was yet speaking his step was heard along the gravel-path,
and he hurried into the room with quick steps. "I crave your pardon,
Mr. Robarts," he said, "that I should keep you waiting." Now Mr.
Robarts had not been there ten minutes, and any such asking of
pardon was hardly necessary. And, even in his own house, Mr.
Crawley affected a mock humility, as though, either through
his own debasement, or because of the superior station of the
other clergyman, he were not entitled to put himself on an equal
footing with his visitor. He would not have shaken hands with Mr.
Robarts,--intending to indicate that he did not presume to do so
while the present accusation was hanging over him,--had not the
action been forced upon him. And then there was something of a
protest in his manner, as though remonstrating against a thing that
was unbecoming to him. Mr. Robarts, without analysing it, understood
it all, and knew that behind the humility there was a crushing
pride,--a pride which, in all probability, would rise up and crush
him before he could get himself out of the room again. It was,
perhaps, after all, a question whether the man was not served rightly
by the extremities to which he was reduced. There was something
radically wrong within him, which had put him into antagonism with
all the world, and which produced these never-dying grievances. There
were many clergymen in the country with incomes as small as that
which had fallen to the lot of Mr. Crawley, but they managed to
get on without displaying their sores as Mr. Crawley displayed his.
They did not wear their old rusty cloaks with all that ostentatious
bitterness of poverty which seemed to belong to that garment when
displayed on Mr. Crawley's shoulders. Such, for a moment, were Mr.
Robarts' thoughts, and he almost repented himself of his present
mission. But then he thought of Mrs. Crawley, and remembering that
her sufferings were at any rate undeserved, determined that he would
persevere.
Mrs. Crawley disappeared almost as soon as her husband appeared,
and Mr. Robarts found himself standing in front of his friend, who
remained fixed on the spot, with his hands folded over each other
and his neck slightly bent forward, in token also of humility. "I
regret," he said, "that your horse should be left there, exposed to
the inclemency of the weather; but--"
"The horse won't mind it a bit," said Mr. Robarts. "A parson's horse
is like a butcher's, and knows that he mustn't be particular about
waiting in the cold."
"I never have had one myself," said Mr. Crawley. Now Mr. Robarts had
had more horses than one before now, and had been thought by some
to have incurred greater expense than was befitting in his stable
comforts. The subject, therefore, was a sore one, and he was worried
a little. "I just wanted to say a few words to you, Crawley," he
said, "and if I am not occupying too much of your time--"
"My time is altogether at your disposal. Will you be seated?"
Then Mr. Robarts sat down, and, swinging his hat between his
legs, bethought himself how he should begin his work. "We had the
archdeacon over at Framley the other day," he said. "Of course you
know the archdeacon?"
"I never had the advantage of any acquaintance with Dr. Grantly. Of
course I know him well by name, and also personally,--that is, by
sight."
"And by character?"
"Nay; I can hardly say so much as that. But I am aware that his name
stands high with many of his order."
"Exactly; that is what I mean. You know that his judgment is thought
more of in clerical matters than that of any other clergyman in the
county."
"By a certain party, Mr. Robarts."
"Well, yes. They don't think much of him, I suppose, at the palace.
But that won't lower him in your estimation."
"I by no means wish to derogate from Dr. Grantly's high position
in his own archdeaconry,--to which, as you are aware, I am not
attached,--nor to criticize his conduct in any respect. It would be
unbecoming in me to do so. But I cannot accept it as a point in a
clergyman's favour, that he should be opposed to his bishop."
Now this was too much for Mr. Robarts. After all that he had heard of
the visit paid by Mr. Crawley to the palace,--of the venom displayed
by Mrs. Proudie on that occasion, and of the absolute want of
subordination to episcopal authority which Mr. Crawley himself was
supposed to have shown,--Mr. Robarts did feel it hard that his friend
the archdeacon should be snubbed in this way because he was deficient
in reverence for his bishop! "I thought, Crawley," he said, "that
you yourself were inclined to dispute orders coming to you from the
palace. The world at least says as much concerning you."
"What the world says of me I have learned to disregard very much, Mr.
Robarts. But I hope that I shall never disobey the authority of the
Church when properly and legally exercised."
"I hope with all my heart you never will; nor I either. And the
archdeacon, who knows, to the breadth of a hair, what a bishop ought
to do and what he ought not, and what he may do and what he may not,
will, I should say, be the last man in England to sin in that way."
"Very probably. I am far from contradicting you there. Pray
understand, Mr. Robarts, that I bring no accusation against the
archdeacon. Why should I?"
"I didn't mean to discuss him at all."
"Nor did I, Mr. Robarts."
"I only mentioned his name, because, as I said, he was over with us
the other day at Framley, and we were all talking about your affair."
"My affair!" said Mr. Crawley. And then came a frown upon his brow,
and a gleam of fire into his eyes, which effectually banished that
look of extreme humility which he had assumed. "And may I ask why the
archdeacon was discussing--my affair?"
"Simply from the kindness which he bears to you."
"I am grateful for the archdeacon's kindness, as a man is bound to be
for any kindness, whether displayed wisely or unwisely. But it seems
to me that my affair, as you call it, Mr. Robarts, is of that nature
that they who wish well to me will better further their wishes by
silence than by any discussion."
"Then I cannot agree with you." Mr. Crawley shrugged his shoulders,
opened his hands a little and then closed them, and bowed his head.
He could not have declared more clearly by any words that he differed
altogether from Mr. Robarts, and that as the subject was one so
peculiarly his own he had a right to expect that his opinion should
be allowed to prevail against that of any other person. "If you come
to that, you know, how is anybody's tongue to be stopped?"
"That vain tongues cannot be stopped, I am well aware. I do not
expect that people's tongues should be stopped. I am not saying what
men will do, but what good wishes should dictate."
"Well, perhaps you'll hear me out for a minute." Mr. Crawley again
bowed his head. "Whether we were wise or unwise, we were discussing
this affair."
"Whether I stole Mr. Soames's money?"
"No; nobody supposed for a moment you had stolen it."
"I cannot understand how they should suppose anything else, knowing,
as they do, that the magistrates have committed me for the theft.
This took place at Framley, you say, and probably in Lord Lufton's
presence."
"Exactly."
"And Lord Lufton was chairman at the sitting of the magistrates at
which I was committed. How can it be that he should think otherwise?"
"I am sure he has not an idea that you were guilty. Nor yet has Dr.
Thorne, who was also one of the magistrates. I don't suppose one of
them then thought so."
"Then their action, to say the least of it, was very strange."
"It was all because you had nobody to manage it for you. I thoroughly
believe that if you had placed the matter in the hands of a good
lawyer, you would never have heard a word more about it. That seems
to be the opinion of everybody I speak to on the subject."
"Then in this country a man is to be punished or not, according to
his ability to fee a lawyer!"
"I am not talking about punishment."
"And presuming an innocent man to have the ability and not the will
to do so, he is to be punished, to be ruined root and branch, self
and family, character and pocket, simply because, knowing his own
innocence, he does not choose to depend on the mercenary skill of a
man whose trade he abhors for the establishment of that which should
be clear as the sun at noon-day! You say I am innocent, and yet you
tell me I am to be condemned as a guilty man, have my gown taken
from me, be torn from my wife and children, be disgraced before the
eyes of all men, and be made a byword and a thing horrible to be
mentioned, because I will not fee an attorney to fee another man
to come and lie on my behalf, to browbeat witnesses, to make false
appeals, and perhaps shed false tears in defending me. You have come
to me asking me to do this, if I understand you, telling me that the
archdeacon would so advise me."
"That is my object." Mr. Crawley, as he had spoken, had in his
vehemence risen from his seat, and Mr. Robarts was also standing.
"Then tell the archdeacon," said Mr. Crawley, "that I will have none
of his advice. I will have no one there paid by me to obstruct the
course of justice or to hoodwink a jury. I have been in courts of
law, and know what is the work for which these gentlemen are hired.
I will have none of it, and I will thank you to tell the archdeacon
so, with my respectful acknowledgments of his consideration and
condescension. I say nothing as to my own innocence, or my own guilt.
But I do say that if I am dragged before that tribunal, an innocent
man, and am falsely declared to be guilty, because I lack money to
bribe a lawyer to speak for me, then the laws of this country deserve
but little of that reverence which we are accustomed to pay to them.
And if I be guilty--"
"Nobody supposes you to be guilty."
"And if I be guilty," continued Mr. Crawley, altogether ignoring the
interruption, except by the repetition of his words, and a slight
raising of his voice, "I will not add to my guilt by hiring any one
to prove a falsehood or to disprove a truth."
"I'm sorry that you should say so, Mr. Crawley."
"I speak according to what light I have, Mr. Robarts; and if I have
been over-warm with you,--and I am conscious that I have been in
fault in that direction,--I must pray you to remember that I am
somewhat hardly tried. My sorrows and troubles are so great that they
rise against me and disturb me, and drive me on,--whither I would not
be driven."
"But, my friend, is not that just the reason why you should trust in
this matter to some one who can be more calm than yourself?"
"I cannot trust to any one,--in a matter of conscience. To do as you
would have me is to me wrong. Shall I do wrong because I am unhappy?"
"You should cease to think it wrong when so advised by persons you
can trust."
"I can trust no one with my own conscience;--not even the archdeacon,
great as he is."
"The archdeacon has meant only well to you."
"I will presume so. I will believe so. I do think so. Tell the
archdeacon from me that I humbly thank him;--that, in a matter of
church question, I might probably submit my judgment to his; even
though he might have no authority over me, knowing as I do that in
such matters his experience has been great. Tell him also, that
though I would fain that this unfortunate affair might burden the
tongue of none among my neighbours,--at least till I shall have stood
before the judge to receive the verdict of the jury, and, if needful,
his lordship's sentence--still I am convinced that in what he has
spoken, as also in what he has done, he has not yielded to the
idleness of gossip, but has exercised his judgment with intended
kindness."
"He has certainly intended to do you a service; and as for its not
being talked about, that is out of the question."
"And for yourself, Mr. Robarts, whom I have ever regarded as a friend
since circumstances brought me into your neighbourhood,--for you,
whose sister I love tenderly in memory of past kindness, though now
she is removed so far above my sphere, as to make it unfit that I
should call her my friend--"
"She does not think so at all."
"For yourself, as I was saying, pray believe me that though from the
roughness of my manner, being now unused to social intercourse, I
seem to be ungracious and forbidding, I am grateful and mindful, and
that in the tablets of my heart I have written you down as one in
whom I could trust,--were it given to me to trust in men and women."
Then he turned round with his face to the wall and his back to his
visitor, and so remained till Mr. Robarts had left him. "At any rate
I wish you well through your trouble," said Robarts; and as he spoke
he found that his own words were nearly choked by a sob that was
rising in his throat.
He went away without another word, and got out to his gig without
seeing Mrs. Crawley. During one period of the interview he had been
very angry with the man,--so angry as to make him almost declare to
himself that he would take no more trouble on his behalf. Then he
had been brought to acknowledge that Mr. Walker was right, and that
Crawley was certainly mad. He was so mad, so far removed from the
dominion of sound sense, that no jury could say that he was guilty
and that he ought to be punished for his guilt. And, as he so
resolved, he could not but ask himself the question, whether the
charge of the parish ought to be left in the hands of such a man? But
at last, just before he went, these feelings and these convictions
gave way to pity, and he remembered simply the troubles which seemed
to have been heaped on the head of this poor victim to misfortune.
As he drove home he resolved that there was nothing left for him to
do, but to write to the dean. It was known to all who knew them both,
that the dean and Mr. Crawley had lived together on the closest
intimacy at college, and that that friendship had been maintained
through life;--though, from the peculiarity of Mr. Crawley's
character, the two had not been much together of late years. Seeing
how things were going now, and hearing how pitiful was the plight in
which Mr. Crawley was placed, the dean would, no doubt, feel it to be
his duty to hasten his return to England. He was believed to be at
this moment in Jerusalem, and it would be long before a letter could
reach him; but there still wanted three months to the assizes, and
his return might be probably effected before the end of February.
"I never was so distressed in my life," Mark Robarts said to his
wife.
"And you think you have done no good?"
"Only this, that I have convinced myself that the poor man is not
responsible for what he does, and that for her sake as well as
for his own, some person should be enabled to interfere for his
protection." Then he told Mrs. Robarts what Mr. Walker had said; also
the message which Mr. Crawley had sent to the archdeacon. But they
both agreed that that message need not be sent on any further.