The Health-Drinking
When the dinner was over, and the first draughts from the great cask of
birthday ale were brought up, room was made for the broad Mr. Poyser at
the side of the table, and two chairs were placed at the head. It had
been settled very definitely what Mr. Poyser was to do when the young
squire should appear, and for the last five minutes he had been in a
state of abstraction, with his eyes fixed on the dark picture opposite,
and his hands busy with the loose cash and other articles in his
breeches pockets.
When the young squire entered, with Mr. Irwine by his side, every one
stood up, and this moment of homage was very agreeable to Arthur. He
liked to feel his own importance, and besides that, he cared a great
deal for the good-will of these people: he was fond of thinking that
they had a hearty, special regard for him. The pleasure he felt was in
his face as he said, “My grandfather and I hope all our friends here
have enjoyed their dinner, and find my birthday ale good. Mr. Irwine
and I are come to taste it with you, and I am sure we shall all like
anything the better that the rector shares with us.”
All eyes were now turned on Mr. Poyser, who, with his hands still busy
in his pockets, began with the deliberateness of a slow-striking clock.
“Captain, my neighbours have put it upo’ me to speak for ’em to-day,
for where folks think pretty much alike, one spokesman’s as good as a
score. And though we’ve mayhappen got contrairy ways o’ thinking about
a many things—one man lays down his land one way an’ another
another—an’ I’ll not take it upon me to speak to no man’s farming, but
my own—this I’ll say, as we’re all o’ one mind about our young squire.
We’ve pretty nigh all on us known you when you war a little un, an’
we’ve niver known anything on you but what was good an’ honorable. You
speak fair an’ y’ act fair, an’ we’re joyful when we look forrard to
your being our landlord, for we ’lieve you mean to do right by
everybody, an’ ’ull make no man’s bread bitter to him if you can help
it. That’s what I mean, an’ that’s what we all mean; and when a man’s
said what he means, he’d better stop, for th’ ale ’ull be none the
better for stannin’. An’ I’ll not say how we like th’ ale yet, for we
couldna well taste it till we’d drunk your health in it; but the dinner
was good, an’ if there’s anybody hasna enjoyed it, it must be the fault
of his own inside. An’ as for the rector’s company, it’s well known as
that’s welcome t’ all the parish wherever he may be; an’ I hope, an’ we
all hope, as he’ll live to see us old folks, an’ our children grown to
men an’ women an’ Your Honour a family man. I’ve no more to say as
concerns the present time, an’ so we’ll drink our young squire’s
health—three times three.”
Hereupon a glorious shouting, a rapping, a jingling, a clattering, and
a shouting, with plentiful _da capo_, pleasanter than a strain of
sublimest music in the ears that receive such a tribute for the first
time. Arthur had felt a twinge of conscience during Mr. Poyser’s
speech, but it was too feeble to nullify the pleasure he felt in being
praised. Did he not deserve what was said of him on the whole? If there
was something in his conduct that Poyser wouldn’t have liked if he had
known it, why, no man’s conduct will bear too close an inspection; and
Poyser was not likely to know it; and, after all, what had he done?
Gone a little too far, perhaps, in flirtation, but another man in his
place would have acted much worse; and no harm would come—no harm
_should_ come, for the next time he was alone with Hetty, he would
explain to her that she must not think seriously of him or of what had
passed. It was necessary to Arthur, you perceive, to be satisfied with
himself. Uncomfortable thoughts must be got rid of by good intentions
for the future, which can be formed so rapidly that he had time to be
uncomfortable and to become easy again before Mr. Poyser’s slow speech
was finished, and when it was time for him to speak he was quite
light-hearted.
“I thank you all, my good friends and neighbours,” Arthur said, “for
the good opinion of me, and the kind feelings towards me which Mr.
Poyser has been expressing on your behalf and on his own, and it will
always be my heartiest wish to deserve them. In the course of things we
may expect that, if I live, I shall one day or other be your landlord;
indeed, it is on the ground of that expectation that my grandfather has
wished me to celebrate this day and to come among you now; and I look
forward to this position, not merely as one of power and pleasure for
myself, but as a means of benefiting my neighbours. It hardly becomes
so young a man as I am to talk much about farming to you, who are most
of you so much older, and are men of experience; still, I have
interested myself a good deal in such matters, and learned as much
about them as my opportunities have allowed; and when the course of
events shall place the estate in my hands, it will be my first desire
to afford my tenants all the encouragement a landlord can give them, in
improving their land and trying to bring about a better practice of
husbandry. It will be my wish to be looked on by all my deserving
tenants as their best friend, and nothing would make me so happy as to
be able to respect every man on the estate, and to be respected by him
in return. It is not my place at present to enter into particulars; I
only meet your good hopes concerning me by telling you that my own
hopes correspond to them—that what you expect from me I desire to
fulfil; and I am quite of Mr. Poyser’s opinion, that when a man has
said what he means, he had better stop. But the pleasure I feel in
having my own health drunk by you would not be perfect if we did not
drink the health of my grandfather, who has filled the place of both
parents to me. I will say no more, until you have joined me in drinking
his health on a day when he has wished me to appear among you as the
future representative of his name and family.”
Perhaps there was no one present except Mr. Irwine who thoroughly
understood and approved Arthur’s graceful mode of proposing his
grandfather’s health. The farmers thought the young squire knew well
enough that they hated the old squire, and Mrs. Poyser said, “he’d
better not ha’ stirred a kettle o’ sour broth.” The bucolic mind does
not readily apprehend the refinements of good taste. But the toast
could not be rejected and when it had been drunk, Arthur said, “I thank
you, both for my grandfather and myself; and now there is one more
thing I wish to tell you, that you may share my pleasure about it, as I
hope and believe you will. I think there can be no man here who has not
a respect, and some of you, I am sure, have a very high regard, for my
friend Adam Bede. It is well known to every one in this neighbourhood
that there is no man whose word can be more depended on than his; that
whatever he undertakes to do, he does well, and is as careful for the
interests of those who employ him as for his own. I’m proud to say that
I was very fond of Adam when I was a little boy, and I have never lost
my old feeling for him—I think that shows that I know a good fellow
when I find him. It has long been my wish that he should have the
management of the woods on the estate, which happen to be very
valuable, not only because I think so highly of his character, but
because he has the knowledge and the skill which fit him for the place.
And I am happy to tell you that it is my grandfather’s wish too, and it
is now settled that Adam shall manage the woods—a change which I am
sure will be very much for the advantage of the estate; and I hope you
will by and by join me in drinking his health, and in wishing him all
the prosperity in life that he deserves. But there is a still older
friend of mine than Adam Bede present, and I need not tell you that it
is Mr. Irwine. I’m sure you will agree with me that we must drink no
other person’s health until we have drunk his. I know you have all
reason to love him, but no one of his parishioners has so much reason
as I. Come, charge your glasses, and let us drink to our excellent
rector—three times three!”
This toast was drunk with all the enthusiasm that was wanting to the
last, and it certainly was the most picturesque moment in the scene
when Mr. Irwine got up to speak, and all the faces in the room were
turned towards him. The superior refinement of his face was much more
striking than that of Arthur’s when seen in comparison with the people
round them. Arthur’s was a much commoner British face, and the
splendour of his new-fashioned clothes was more akin to the young
farmer’s taste in costume than Mr. Irwine’s powder and the well-brushed
but well-worn black, which seemed to be his chosen suit for great
occasions; for he had the mysterious secret of never wearing a
new-looking coat.
“This is not the first time, by a great many,” he said, “that I have
had to thank my parishioners for giving me tokens of their goodwill,
but neighbourly kindness is among those things that are the more
precious the older they get. Indeed, our pleasant meeting to-day is a
proof that when what is good comes of age and is likely to live, there
is reason for rejoicing, and the relation between us as clergyman and
parishioners came of age two years ago, for it is three-and-twenty
years since I first came among you, and I see some tall fine-looking
young men here, as well as some blooming young women, that were far
from looking as pleasantly at me when I christened them as I am happy
to see them looking now. But I’m sure you will not wonder when I say
that among all those young men, the one in whom I have the strongest
interest is my friend Mr. Arthur Donnithorne, for whom you have just
expressed your regard. I had the pleasure of being his tutor for
several years, and have naturally had opportunities of knowing him
intimately which cannot have occurred to any one else who is present;
and I have some pride as well as pleasure in assuring you that I share
your high hopes concerning him, and your confidence in his possession
of those qualities which will make him an excellent landlord when the
time shall come for him to take that important position among you. We
feel alike on most matters on which a man who is getting towards fifty
can feel in common with a young man of one-and-twenty, and he has just
been expressing a feeling which I share very heartily, and I would not
willingly omit the opportunity of saying so. That feeling is his value
and respect for Adam Bede. People in a high station are of course more
thought of and talked about and have their virtues more praised, than
those whose lives are passed in humble everyday work; but every
sensible man knows how necessary that humble everyday work is, and how
important it is to us that it should be done well. And I agree with my
friend Mr. Arthur Donnithorne in feeling that when a man whose duty
lies in that sort of work shows a character which would make him an
example in any station, his merit should be acknowledged. He is one of
those to whom honour is due, and his friends should delight to honour
him. I know Adam Bede well—I know what he is as a workman, and what he
has been as a son and brother—and I am saying the simplest truth when I
say that I respect him as much as I respect any man living. But I am
not speaking to you about a stranger; some of you are his intimate
friends, and I believe there is not one here who does not know enough
of him to join heartily in drinking his health.”
As Mr. Irwine paused, Arthur jumped up and, filling his glass, said, “A
bumper to Adam Bede, and may he live to have sons as faithful and
clever as himself!”
No hearer, not even Bartle Massey, was so delighted with this toast as
Mr. Poyser. “Tough work” as his first speech had been, he would have
started up to make another if he had not known the extreme irregularity
of such a course. As it was, he found an outlet for his feeling in
drinking his ale unusually fast, and setting down his glass with a
swing of his arm and a determined rap. If Jonathan Burge and a few
others felt less comfortable on the occasion, they tried their best to
look contented, and so the toast was drunk with a goodwill apparently
unanimous.
Adam was rather paler than usual when he got up to thank his friends.
He was a good deal moved by this public tribute—very naturally, for he
was in the presence of all his little world, and it was uniting to do
him honour. But he felt no shyness about speaking, not being troubled
with small vanity or lack of words; he looked neither awkward nor
embarrassed, but stood in his usual firm upright attitude, with his
head thrown a little backward and his hands perfectly still, in that
rough dignity which is peculiar to intelligent, honest, well-built
workmen, who are never wondering what is their business in the world.
“I’m quite taken by surprise,” he said. “I didn’t expect anything o’
this sort, for it’s a good deal more than my wages. But I’ve the more
reason to be grateful to you, Captain, and to you, Mr. Irwine, and to
all my friends here, who’ve drunk my health and wished me well. It ’ud
be nonsense for me to be saying, I don’t at all deserve th’ opinion you
have of me; that ’ud be poor thanks to you, to say that you’ve known me
all these years and yet haven’t sense enough to find out a great deal
o’ the truth about me. You think, if I undertake to do a bit o’ work,
I’ll do it well, be my pay big or little—and that’s true. I’d be
ashamed to stand before you here if it wasna true. But it seems to me
that’s a man’s plain duty, and nothing to be conceited about, and it’s
pretty clear to me as I’ve never done more than my duty; for let us do
what we will, it’s only making use o’ the sperrit and the powers that
ha’ been given to us. And so this kindness o’ yours, I’m sure, is no
debt you owe me, but a free gift, and as such I accept it and am
thankful. And as to this new employment I’ve taken in hand, I’ll only
say that I took it at Captain Donnithorne’s desire, and that I’ll try
to fulfil his expectations. I’d wish for no better lot than to work
under him, and to know that while I was getting my own bread I was
taking care of his int’rests. For I believe he’s one o’ those gentlemen
as wishes to do the right thing, and to leave the world a bit better
than he found it, which it’s my belief every man may do, whether he’s
gentle or simple, whether he sets a good bit o’ work going and finds
the money, or whether he does the work with his own hands. There’s no
occasion for me to say any more about what I feel towards him: I hope
to show it through the rest o’ my life in my actions.”
There were various opinions about Adam’s speech: some of the women
whispered that he didn’t show himself thankful enough, and seemed to
speak as proud as could be; but most of the men were of opinion that
nobody could speak more straightfor’ard, and that Adam was as fine a
chap as need to be. While such observations were being buzzed about,
mingled with wonderings as to what the old squire meant to do for a
bailiff, and whether he was going to have a steward, the two gentlemen
had risen, and were walking round to the table where the wives and
children sat. There was none of the strong ale here, of course, but
wine and dessert—sparkling gooseberry for the young ones, and some good
sherry for the mothers. Mrs. Poyser was at the head of this table, and
Totty was now seated in her lap, bending her small nose deep down into
a wine-glass in search of the nuts floating there.
“How do you do, Mrs. Poyser?” said Arthur. “Weren’t you pleased to hear
your husband make such a good speech to-day?”
“Oh, sir, the men are mostly so tongue-tied—you’re forced partly to
guess what they mean, as you do wi’ the dumb creaturs.”
“What! you think you could have made it better for him?” said Mr.
Irwine, laughing.
“Well, sir, when I want to say anything, I can mostly find words to say
it in, thank God. Not as I’m a-finding faut wi’ my husband, for if he’s
a man o’ few words, what he says he’ll stand to.”
“I’m sure I never saw a prettier party than this,” Arthur said, looking
round at the apple-cheeked children. “My aunt and the Miss Irwines will
come up and see you presently. They were afraid of the noise of the
toasts, but it would be a shame for them not to see you at table.”
He walked on, speaking to the mothers and patting the children, while
Mr. Irwine satisfied himself with standing still and nodding at a
distance, that no one’s attention might be disturbed from the young
squire, the hero of the day. Arthur did not venture to stop near Hetty,
but merely bowed to her as he passed along the opposite side. The
foolish child felt her heart swelling with discontent; for what woman
was ever satisfied with apparent neglect, even when she knows it to be
the mask of love? Hetty thought this was going to be the most miserable
day she had had for a long while, a moment of chill daylight and
reality came across her dream: Arthur, who had seemed so near to her
only a few hours before, was separated from her, as the hero of a great
procession is separated from a small outsider in the crowd.