SCHEMES.
We must follow Simon Jennings to his room. He felt keenly
disappointed. Money was the idol of his heart, as it is of many million
others. He had robbed, lied, extorted, tyrannized; he had earned scorn,
ill-report, and hatred; nay, he had even diligently gone to work, and
lost his own self-love and self-respect in the service of his darling
idol. He was at once, for lucre's sake, the mean, cringing fawner, and
the pitiless, iron despot; to the rich he could play supple parasite,
while the poor man only knew him as an unrelenting persecutor; with the
good, and they were chiefly of the fairer, softer sex, he walked in
meekness, the spiritual hypocrite; the while, it was his boast to
over-reach the worst in low duplicity and crooked dealing. All this he
was for gold. When the eye of the world was on him, and intuition warned
him of the times, he was ever the serene, the correct, with a smooth
tongue and an oily smile; but in the privacy of some poor hovel, where
his debtor sued for indulgence, or some victim of his passions (he had
more depravities than one) threw her wretched self upon his pity, then
could Simon Jennings lash sternness into rage, and heat his brazen heart
with the embers of inveterate malice. It was as if the serpent, that
voluble, insinuating reptile, which had power to fascinate poor Eve,
turned to rend her when she had fallen, erect, with flashing eyes, and
bristling crest, with venomed fangs, and hissing. Behold,
snake-worshippers of Mexico, the prototype of your grim idol, in
Mammon's model slave and specimen disciple!
Such a man was Simon Jennings, a soul given up to gold--exclusively to
gold; for although, as we have hinted, and as hereafter may appear, he
could sell himself at times to other sins, still these were but as stars
in his evil firmament, while covetousness ruled it like the sun; or, if
the beauteous stars and blessed sun be an image too hallowed for his
wickedness, we may find a fitter in some stagnant pool, where the
pestilential vapour over all is Mammonism, and the dull, fat weeds that
rot beneath, are pride, craftiness, and lechery. In fact, to speak of
passions in a heart such as his, were a palpable misnomer; all was
reduced to calculation; his rage was fostered to intimidate, and where
the wretch seemed kinder, his kindnesses were aimed at power, as an
object, rather than at pleasure--the power to obtain more gold.
For it is a dreadful truth (which I would not dare to utter if such
crimes had never been), that a reprobate of the bailiff Jennings's stamp
may, by debts, or fines, or kind usurious loans, entrap a beggared
creature in his toils; and then lyingly propose remission at the secret
sacrifice of honour, in some one, over whom that dastard beggar has
control; and having this point gained, the seducer is quite capable of
using, for still more extortion, the power which a threatening of
exposure gives, when the criminally weak has stooped to sin, on promises
of silence and delivery from ruin. I wish there may be no poor yeoman
in this broad land, of honourable name withal, he and his progenitors
for ages, who can tell the tale of his own base fears, a creditor's
exactions, and some dependant victim's degradation: some orphaned niece,
some friendless ward, immolated in her earliest youth at the shrine of
black-hearted Mammon; I wish there may be no sleek middle-man guilty of
the crimes here charged upon Simon Jennings.
This worthy, then, had been introduced at Hurstley by his aunt, Mrs.
Quarles, on the occurrence of a death vacancy in the lad-of-all-work
department, during the long ungoverned space of young Sir John's
minority. As the precious "lad" grew older, and divers in-door
potentates died off, the house-keeper had power to push her nephew on to
pageship, footmanship, and divers other similar crafts, even to the
final post of butler; while his own endeavours, backed by his aunt's
interest, managed to secure for him the rule out of doors no less than
in, and the closest possible access to guardians and landlords, to the
tenants--and their rent.
Now, the amiable Mrs. Quarles had contrived the elevation of her nephew,
and connived at his monopolies, mainly to fit in cleverly with her own
worldly weal; for it would never have done to have risked the loss of
innumerable perquisites, and other peculations, by the possible advent
of an honest butler. But, while the worshipful Simon, to do him only
justice, fully answered Mrs. Bridget's purpose, and even added much to
her emoluments; still he was no mere derivative scion, but an
independent plant, and entertained views of his own. He had his own
designs, and laid himself out to entrap his aunt's affections; or
rather, for I cannot say he greatly valued these, to secure her good
graces, and worm himself within the gilded clauses of her will; she was
an old woman, rolling in gold, no doubt had a will; and as for himself,
he was younger by five-and-thirty years, so he could afford to wait a
little, before trying on her shoes. The petty schemes of thievery and
cheating, which he in his Quotem capacities had practised, were to his
eyes but as driblets of wealth in comparison with the mighty stream of
his old aunt's savings. Not that he had done amiss, trust him! but then
he knew the amount of his own hoard to a farthing, while of hers he was
entirely ignorant; so, on the principle of '_omne ignotum pro
mirifico_,' he pondered on its vastness with indefinite amazement,
although probably it might not reach the quarter of his own. For it
should in common charity be stated, that, with all her hiding and hiving
propensities, Mrs. Quarles, however usually a screw, was by fits and
starts an extravagant woman, and besides spending on herself, had
occasionally helped her own kith and kin; poor niece Scott, in
particular, had unconsciously come in for many pleasant pilferings, and
had to thank her good aunt for innumerable filched groceries, and
hosieries, and other largesses, which (the latter in especial) really
had contributed, with sundry other more self indulgent expenses, to make
no small havoc of the store.
Still, this store was Simon's one main chance, the chief prize in his
hope's lottery; and it was with a pang, indeed, that he found all his
endeavours to compass its possession had been vain. Was that endless
cribbage nothing, and the weary Bible-lessons on a Sunday, and the
constant fetchings and carryings, and the forced smiles, sham
congratulations, and other hypocritical affections--fearing for his dear
aunt's dropsy, and inquiring so much about her bunions--was all this
dull servitude to meet with no reward? With none? worse than none! Fool
that he was! had he schemed, and plotted, and flattered, and
cozened--ay, and given away many pretty little presents, lost decoys,
that had cost hard money, all for nothing--less than nothing--to be
laughed at and postponed to his Methodist sister Scott? The impudence of
deliberately telling him he "didn't want it, and was rich enough!" as if
"enough" could ever be good grammar after such a monosyllable as "rich;"
and "want it" indeed! of course he wanted it; if not, why had he slaved
so many years? want it, indeed! if to hope by day, and to dream by
night--if to leave no means untried of delicately showing how he longed
for it--if to grow sick with care, and thin with coveting--if this were
to want the gold, good sooth, he wanted it. Don't tell him of starving
brats, his own very bowels pined for it; don't thrust in his face the
necessities of others--the necessity is his; he must have it--he will
have it--talk of necessity!
Wait a bit: is there no way of managing some better end to all this? no
mode of giving the right turn to that wheel of fortune, round which his
cares and calculations have been hovering so long? Is there no
conceivable method of possessing that vast hoard?
Bless me! how huge it must be! and Simon turned whiter at the thought:
only add up Mother Quarles's income for fifty-five years: she is
seventy-five at least, and came here a girl of twenty. Simon's hair
stood on end, and his heart went like a mill-clapper, as he mentally
figured out the sum.
Is there no possibility of contriving matters so that I may be the
architect of my own good luck, and no thanks at all to the old witch
there? Dear--what a glorious fancy--let me think a little. Cannot I get
at the huge hoard some how?