MR. HARVEY GERARD.
So entirely engrossed had I been with the action and dialogue of the
speakers in the preceding scene, that it scarcely struck me while it was
going on that I had not paid for my place in the pit in the usual
fashion, but was a mere eavesdropper under an orange-tree.
So soon as Sir Massingberd was really gone, however, I became conscious
of the impropriety of my situation, and not wishing to own what I had
done, I stole noiselessly out into the garden, and then re-entered the
conservatory, and thereby the drawing-room, as though I had been out of
sight and hearing all the time. It was not quite a chivalrous act; but I
do not think that the boys of my time, myself included, were quite so
honourable and frank as Mr. Tom Brown describes those of the present day
to be. There was something, moreover, about Mr. Harvey Gerard which told
me he would have loathed a listener, nor would have been very ready to
have accepted fear as any excuse for my conduct. He was a man of noble
bearing, nearly six feet in height, and extremely well formed. He was
dressed in a blue lapelled coat, light waistcoat and kerseys, and
Hessian boots. These last I had not seen before upon any person, and I
remember them well. I think they were the most graceful covering for the
leg that has yet been devised, although, I own, they may not have been
so convenient as the modern knickerbockers. He wore his own grey
hair--which was not very usual with persons of his rank of life--and
rather long. His features were large, but handsome; and there was a kind
of youthful blandness about them which gave his face a most agreeable
expression in ordinary. When excited by passion, however, as I had
lately seen him, his appearance greatly changed. His thin lips parted
contemptuously, and showed his threatening teeth, while his blue eyes,
gentle almost to dreaminess, became blood-streaked, and almost started
from their sockets. As I now beheld him calmly kindling a lamp on the
drawing-room table, no one could have been a greater contrast than
himself to the man who had just driven Sir Massingberd Heath from the
room with such a hail-storm of invective.
"Well, young gentleman," exclaimed he, cheerfully, "the enemy is
repulsed, you see, although, I confess, your friend the baronet is
rather a formidable fellow. He's uncommonly like Front de Boeuf. I
daresay you have read the new romance of 'Ivanhoe,' have you not?"
"Marmaduke has, sir, I believe," replied I; "but I am sorry to say I am
no great reader."
"That is not well, Mr. Meredith; youth is the time for reading. A
knowledge of books, if they are sufficiently varied, is half-way towards
the knowledge of men. It is true that a student may turn out a fool,
because he may have been a book-worm; but the probability is greater of
that misfortune befalling one who has been 'no great reader.' I would
not say so much, if you were older than you are, and had not plenty of
time before you to redeem the past. There is nothing more contemptible
than ignorance; save, perhaps"--here he sighed--"than knowledge
misapplied. What a dangerous villain would that man be, for instance,
who has just been here, had his natural powers been cultivated by study.
As it is, he rushes headlong, like the bull." Here he turned upon me
gaily. "Did he ever toss you, my young friend?"
"Well, sir," returned I, remembering that interview in the churchyard,
"he bellowed at me once a little."
"Did he, my boy, did he?--the cowardly brute! Well, I've put a ring
through his nose for a considerable time to come, I flatter myself. I
<i>like</i> a bull-fight. I think I should have made a capital matador,"
cried Mr. Gerard, rubbing his hands and laughing.
"How did you--how did you manage to <i>ring</i> him, sir?" inquired I, with
hesitation, for I was curious to see whether Mr. Gerard would make me a
confidant of what had passed.
"Oh, I watched him carefully--never took my eyes off him for a moment.
When he was calm in his white malice, then I irritated him by waving my
red flag--this silver-headed brandy-flask put him in a horrible rage.
When he made his rushes, I stood aside, and let him go where he would.
When he had exhausted himself, I stepped in, and gave him the steel. I
wonder," soliloquized Mr. Gerard, aloud, as he slowly paced up and down
the room--"I wonder if it would be safe to give him the <i>coup de
grace</i>!"
"But," said I, "were you not afraid--"
"My dear young friend," said my host, with seriousness, but placing his
hand kindly upon my shoulder, "an honest man should never be afraid of a
fellow-creature. 'Fear God,' it is written; but even the king is only
to be honoured."
It is impossible to express the grave and noble air with which Mr.
Gerard spoke those words: I felt such an affectionate awe of him from
that moment, as no other person has ever inspired within me.
"But," continued I, "supposing he had made a personal assault upon you:
he is perfectly reckless, and a much more powerful man, I should think."
"Very true, my young friend; and indeed at one time I thought he would
certainly have done it; that was why I placed the poker in the fire. It
would not have been a romantic action; but so sure as he laid finger
upon me, I would have played Bailie Nicol Jarvie, and 'burned a hole in
him one might put a kail-pat through.' It would have give me genuine
pleasure."
"Burned a hole in Sir Massingberd!" cried I aghast.
"Ay, that would I. As it was, I threatened him with my servants; and had
he ventured to force his way into yonder room, they should have flogged
him, though he were ten times Sir Massingberd. Better men than he are
often flogged for less offences. Did you hear of Admiral Flinthert's
funeral at Crittenden a month ago or so? You did; and I daresay you were
told that he was a good man and a brave sailor."
"So it was said, indeed, sir," replied I. "Mr. Long attended the funeral
out of respect, and I believe a great number of gentlemen of the
county."
"Yet, for all that, he was a bad man, and a coward," returned Mr.
Gerard, his voice rising, and his blue eyes flashing with indignation.
"One part of the naval creed--'to hate the French'--it is true, he did
believe, and acted in that faith; but he omitted the other, and the more
important, 'to hate the devil.' He loved and served the devil of his own
arrogant passions; he made the men miserable over whom he ruled; his
ship was called the Floating Hell. When the carriage of the
lord-lieutenant had driven away from the church, with all its load of
sympathy--for there was nothing else inside it--and the county gentry
were rolling homewards, congratulating themselves that they had paid due
reverence to a gallant officer and a friend of order and good
government, I will tell you what happened. The very evening those
honoured remains were laid in their resting-place, a sailor called at
the house of old Marks, the sexton, and begged to be shown the admiral's
coffin. 'I have sailed with him for years,' said he, 'and I have made
right away from Portsmouth on purpose to do this; and though I cannot
see his face, I should like at least to look upon that which contains
it.'
"Now, old Marks did not fancy unlocking the church, and descending into
a damp vault; beside which, he had really no right to enter the last
home of the Flintherts without due occasion. So said he, 'I cannot admit
you to where the admiral lies, and certainly not at this hour; it is as
much as my place is worth.'
"Then the sailor, who was as fine and hearty-looking a man, said Marks,
as need be, held up half a sovereign between his finger and thumb. 'I
have been just paid off,' said he, 'and will gladly give you this for
your trouble; while as for your scruples, why, don't you think the
admiral's family here, and all his great friends who came to do him
honour to-day, would be glad enough that a poor tar should pay a humble
tribute to his memory?'
"'Well,' said Marks, regarding, I daresay, the half-sovereign, rather
wistfully, 'what you have just said seems certainly to alter the matter.
I will take you to the church, and you shall see the coffin, for the
vault is not yet sealed.'
"So they started with a lantern, and Marks was for going first to show
the way, but the sailor went ahead, saying that he knew the road
blindfold, for that he had been brought up in that neighbourhood, and
knew it well.
"'Well,' said old Marks, 'I thought I recognized something about you,
although you are much changed in the last twenty years. You are Will
Moody, who got into trouble with Sir Wentworth Heath about poaching;
only he couldn't quite prove it agin you.'
"'No,' returned the sailor; 'but he went to work by a surer way than
even the law--he got me pressed when I went to visit my sister down at
Deal.'
"That, my young friend," observed Mr. Gerard, interrupting himself, "is
a method by which not only we man our fleet, but rid the country of a
number of obnoxious persons."[1]
"'Yes,' continued the sailor, 'I was pressed; if it had not been for
that I should not have sailed under Admiral Flinthert.' He spoke no more
till they had entered the church, and had moved away the stone, which
had been only dropped, and not yet fastened over the mouth of the vault.
Then they descended the steps, and old Marks turned his lantern on to
the spot where the first--that is, the latest--coffin of the long row
was lying. 'That is the admiral's,' said he; 'you may read his name upon
the silver plate.'
"William Moody spelled it out aloud, so as to be quite sure. 'Well,'
said he, 'I will tell you a little story about that dead man, and then
we will come away.'
"'Tell us the story when we get home,' replied the sexton.
"'No, no, man; I will tell it here, else you would think ill of me, may
be, for what I am going to do. Now listen. For a long time after I was
pressed, I hated and detested what I had to do, and also those who gave
me my orders; but after a bit I got more used to the work, and some of
the officers I learned to like very well, especially our captain. I was
a strong active fellow, without home-ties to think upon and sadden me,
for mother had other sons to maintain her, and in that respect I was
luckier than most. There were pressed men on board of the same ship,
man, whose wives and helpless children were starving because their
bread-winner was taken from them, and who knew not whether he was dead
or alive. However, as I say, I soon got used to my new position, and
became so good a sailor that I was made what is called captain of the
main-top. When our ship was paid off, which was not, however, for a long
time, I liked the salt water so well, that after I had been home for a
little, I volunteered to serve again.
"'My next captain was this man who lies here. He was as cruel a tyrant
as ever trod a quarter-deck, and a terror to good and bad alike. You
could never please him, do what you would. If an officer is worth his
salt at all, he knows and respects those men who do their duty well
under him. Captain Flinthert knew, but did not respect them; on the
contrary, he behaved towards them as though he resented some imaginary
claims on their part to his consideration. I held in his ship the same
position that I held in the last, for it did not contain a more active
sailor. Yet he found occasion--I should rather say he made it--to get me
punished. I swear to you that I had not committed even that slight fault
which he laid to my charge; if I had done so, it was one for which the
stopping of a day's grog would have been chastisement enough. This
ruffian'--here he smote the coffin with his clenched hand--'ordered me
three dozen lashes. Now, I had never been flogged yet, and when I went
to the captain with almost tears in my eyes, and told him so, and that I
had never even been reported for misconduct, he replied with a sneer
that I was too good by half, and that it was high time I should become
acquainted with the cat-o'-nine tails. "To prevent mistakes, you shall
have it at once," said he: "call up the boatswain's mate." Now, I
thought to myself, in the pride of my manliness and independence, that
such a disgrace should never happen to William Moody, but that I would
die first; so I walked straight from that part of the deck where I had
been speaking with Captain Flinthert, and leaped from the bulwarks into
the sea. I believed I tried at first to drown myself, but I was a strong
swimmer, and nature compelled me presently to strike out. The cry of "A
man overboard!" had caused the boat to be lowered at once, and though we
had been sailing very fast, I was picked up, not much exhausted, and
almost in spite of myself. As soon as I had got on board, and put on dry
things, the captain sent for me on deck, where I found the boatswain's
mate at the grating, and all hands piped for punishment. "William
Moody," said that ruffian in a mocking voice, "I had ordered you three
dozen lashes for a certain offence, but you have now committed a much
graver one in endangering, by your late act, the life of one of his
majesty's sailors; you will therefore now receive <i>six</i> dozen instead.
Boatswain, do your duty."
"'I was, therefore, tied up and punished. I don't think I suffered much
at the time, although I was laid up in the sick ward for long
afterwards. I was entirely occupied with thoughts of revenge. When I was
able to get about again, Captain Flinthert had got another ship, and was
away out of my reach. I never met him, again, or he would not have lived
to the age that is inscribed on yonder plate; but as soon as I heard
that he was dead, I swore to come and spit upon the tyrant's coffin.'
"Then the sailor suited the action to the word, and turned from the
dishonoured corpse with a lighter step than that with which he had
approached it; and old Marks followed him from the vault, as he
confessed to me himself, 'half frightened out of his wits.'"
"I do not wonder," said I to Mr. Gerard, "it was a terrible revenge."
"Ay, but how much worse was the provocation; from the very man, too,
placed in authority of him, whose duty was to foster, not to oppress
him. Verily, they that are in honour, and understand not, are as the
beasts that perish."
"True," returned I, "but then the wretch was dead."
"Just so, young sir," replied Mr. Gerard, impetuously, "was dead, and
never felt the insult. The sailor felt both the insult and the lashes.
How is it that, at your age, you have already learned to be the
apologist of the rich in high places?"
"Nay, sir, I--?"
"Yes, <i>you</i>," continued my host with vehemence; "your pity is for the
admiral, and does not descend to the captain of the maintop. Still,"
added he, in a milder tone, "I should not judge you harshly, even if you
so judge others. You were brought up in India, were you not? where in
the eyes of the cowering natives, to be white is to be powerful, and
wise, and all in all--save to be good. Great heavens, what a retribution
is waiting for us there!" Again my host paced the room, but this time
rapidly, wildly, and uttering exclamations like a sibyl inspired by her
god. "If the nabobs we see here are specimens of those who rule the
East, Heaven help the ruled! What blindness, what infatuation! Do you
know, young man, the very men that cause revolutions am the last to
believe in them?" This was an observation so entirely beyond me, that I
could only murmur that such was doubtless the case, although I did not
remember having heard it remarked before. "It is so," continued Mr.
Gerard, positively, "and it always has been so. It was so in France. I
suppose you have always been taught to consider the French Republicans
the vilest and wickedest of men, and the Revolution to be the mother
that produced them at one monstrous birth. Yes, when the day of
reckoning comes, and the ruin is undeniable, Democracy, forsooth, is
blamed. The taunt is hurled--
'"Behold the harvest that we reap
From popular government and equality!"
Whereas, in truth, 'tis neither these, nor aught
Of wild belief ingrafted on their names
By false philosophy, have caused the woe,
But a terrific reservoir of guilt
And ignorance, filled up from age to age,
That can no longer hold its loathsome charge,
But bursts, and spreads in deluge through the land.'
High truth embalmed in noble verse, yet no one heeds. The author of
those lines, my friend, is the greatest poet in Great Britain, and has
never possessed an income of a hundred pounds a year. They say that my
Lord Castlereagh has thirty thousand...--Stay, do you not hear wheels?
That must be Sitwell's gig. I have not the patience to see him now. His
sycophantic officiousness in fetching Sir Massingberd was too
contemptible. How can a man who has two legs given him to stand upright
upon, persist in grovelling through life upon all-fours?
'Heaven grant the man some noble nook;
For, rest his soul! he'd rather be
Genteelly damned beside a duke
Than saved in vulgar company.'
Do you receive him, Mr. Meredith; and tell him from me that it is no
thanks to him that his patient is yet alive. Now that the siege is
raised, I will just step in and see how the lad is getting on."
My host had left the room only a few seconds when Dr. Sitwell entered
it.
"My dear young friend!" exclaimed he, in an excited manner, "what on
earth has happened to Sir Massingberd Heath? He very nearly rode me down
ten minutes ago on Crittenden Common; and when I inquired after his
nephew, he replied--Well, I cannot repeat the exact words, because they
are so excessively shocking. Why, he must be out of his mind with grief!
I trust he did nothing impetuous, nothing that is to be regretted,
here?"
"No, sir," replied I; "he did not, thanks to our good host, who
withstood all his attempts to see his nephew. It was, however, most
indiscreet of you to send him hither. Mr. Harvey Gerard was exceedingly
annoyed by your doing so."
"My dear young friend," observed Dr. Sitwell, sinking his voice to a
confidential whisper, "Mr. Harvey Gerard is annoyed at many things which
would give most sensible persons a great deal of pleasure. He would as
soon admit a rattle-snake within his doors as a man of title, unless,
indeed, it be his friend, Sir Charles Wolseley. By the by, it is to Sir
Charles that my dear patient, Mr. Broadacres, is indirectly indebted for
his wound. If Sir Charles had not convened that revolutionary meeting at
Bangton, Mr. Broadacres would not have had to read the Riot Act, and
eventually got shot by mistake by his own men. It is denied by the
government, I perceive, that ball was fired by the troops at the first
discharge; but between ourselves such was certainly the case; for I
extracted the bullet from poor Mr. B. myself, and he has had to lie upon
his face ever since. Good heavens, sir, what a position for a man whose
family came in with the Conqueror!"
"Is this Sir Charles Wolseley, then, of whom one reads so much in the
papers, a friend of Mr. Gerard's?" said I. "I have heard Mr. Long remark
that he was a very dangerous man."
"So he is, sir. He'll be hung some day, as sure as he lives. And the
gentleman in whose house we stand is tarred with the same brush. It's
terrible to think of. Why, do you know, Mr. Meredith, that Mr. Harvey
Gerard goes the length"--here the doctor looked about him to be sure
that we were alone, and placing his lips close to my ear, whispered
solemnly, "of wearing a white hat!"
"Gracious goodness," returned I, "why shouldn't he? My father always
wears a white hat in India."
"Yes; but <i>let me tell you this</i>, India is not England," observed the
doctor, sagaciously. "A white hat here is the badge of Radicalism,
Republicanism, Atheism--I don't say that Mr. Gerard is a downright
atheist, but he's a sectary, and that's nearly as bad. And hark ye, I
know this for certain: the only reason why Henry Hunt himself is not
hand and glove with our friend is this, that when Hunt was tried for his
life for sedition, he came into the dock, like a prudent man, with a
black hat, and that is the one act of caution and good sense for which
Mr. Gerard has never forgiven him."
[1] This sarcasm was founded on literal truth; I myself remember a time
when Englishmen submitted to a system of oppression almost precisely
similar to that which has of late driven the Poles to insurrection, and
enlisted for them the sympathies of Europe--namely, a forced
conscription, the subjects of which are <i>selected</i>.