A few days after the conversation just related in the chapter before
the last, while the Chief Baron was undergoing the somewhat protracted
process of a morning toilet,--for it needed a nice hand and a critical
eye to give the curls of that wig their fitting wave, and not to
“charge” those shrunken cheeks with any redundant color,--Mr. Haire was
announced.
“Say I shall be down immediately,--I am in my bath,” said the Chief, who
had hitherto admitted his old friend at all times and seasons.
While Haire was pacing the long dinner-room with solemn steps, wondering
at the change from those days when the Chief would never have thought
of making him wait for an interview, Sir William, attired in a long
dark-blue silk dressing-gown, and with a gold-tasselled cap to match,
entered the room, bringing with him a perfumed atmosphere, so loaded
with bergamot that his old friend almost sneezed at it. “I hurried my
dressing, Haire, when they told me you were here. It is a rare event
to have a visit from you of late,” said the old man, as he sat down and
disposed with graceful care the folds of his rich drapery.
“No,” muttered the other, in some confusion. “I have grown
lazy,--getting old, I suppose, and the walk is not so easy as it used to
be five-and-twenty years ago.”
“Then drive, sir, and don't walk. The querulous tone men employ about
their age is the measure of their obstinate refusal to accommodate
themselves to inevitable change. As for me, I accept the altered
condition, but I defy it to crush me.”
“Every one has not your pluck and your stamina,” said Haire, with a
half-suppressed sigh.
“My example, sir, might encourage many who are weaker.”
“Any news of Lucy lately?” asked Haire, after a pause.
“Miss Lendrick, sir, has, through her brother, communicated to me her
attachment to a young fellow in some marching regiment, and asked my
permission to marry him. No, I am incorrect. Had she done this, there
had been deference and respect; she asks me to forward a letter to her
father, with this prayer, and to support it by my influence.”
“And why not, if he 's a good fellow, and likely to be worthy of her?”
“A good fellow! Why, sir, you are a good fellow, an excellent fellow;
but it would never occur to me to recommend you for a position of high
responsibility or commanding power.”
“Heaven forbid!--or, if you should, Heaven forbid I might be fool enough
to accept it. But what has all this to do with marriage?”
“Explain yourself more fully, sir; you have assumed to call in question
the parallelism I would establish between the tie of marriage and the
obligation of a solemn trust; state your plea.”
“I 'll do nothing of the kind. I came here this morning to--to--I'll be
shot if I remember what I came about; but I know I had something to tell
you; let me try and collect myself.”
“Do, sir, if that be the name you give the painful process.”
“There, there; you'll not make me better by ridiculing me. What could it
have been that I wanted to tell you?”
“Not, impossibly, some recent impertinence of the press towards myself.”
“I think not,--I think not,” said the other, musingly. “I suppose you
've seen that squib in the 'Banner.'”
“It is a paper, sir, I would not condescend to touch.”
“The fellow says that a Chief Baron without a court,--he means this in
allusion to the Crown not bringing those cases of treason-felony into
the Exchequer,--a Chief without a court is like one of those bishops
_in partibus_, and that it would n't be an unwise thing to make the
resemblance complete and stop the salary. And then another observes--”
“Sir, I do not know which most to deplore,--your forgetfulness or your
memory; try to guide your conversation without any demand upon either.”
“And it was about those Celts, as they call these rascals, that I wanted
to say something. What could it have been?”
“Perhaps you may have joined them. Are you a head-centre, or only
empowered to administer oaths and affirmations?”
“Oh! I have it now,” cried Haire, triumphantly. “You remember, one
day we were in the shrubbery after breakfast, you remarked that this
insurrection was especially characterized by the fact that no man of
education, nor, indeed, of any rank above the lowest, had joined it. You
said something about the French Revolution, too; and how, in the Reign
of Terror, the principles of the Girondists had filtered down, and were
to be seen glittering like--”
“Spare me, Haire,--spare me, and do not ask me to recognize the bruised
and battered coinage, without effigy or legend, as the medal of my own
mint.”
“At all events, you remember what I'm referring to.”
“With all your efforts to efface my handwriting I can detect something
of my signature,--go on.”
“Well, they have at last caught a man of some mark and station. I saw
Spencer, of the head office, this morning, and he told me that he had
just committed to Newgate a man of title and consideration. He would not
mention his name; indeed, the investigation was as private as possible,
as it was felt that the importance of such a person being involved in
the project would give a very dangerous impulse to the movement.”
“They are wrong, sir. The insurrection that is guided by men of
condition will, however dangerous, be a game with recognized rules
and laws. The rebellion of the ignorant masses will be a chaos to defy
calculation. You may discuss measures, but there is no arguing with
murder!”
“That's not the way Spencer regarded it. He says the whole thing must
be kept dark; and as they have refused to accept his bail, it's clear
enough they think the case a very important one.”
“If I was not on the Bench I would defend these men! Ay, sir, defend
them! They have not the shadow of a case to show for this rebellion.
It is the most causeless attempt to subvert a country that ever was
conceived; but there is that amount of stupidity,--of ignorance, not
alone of statecraft, but of actual human nature, on the part of those
who rule us, that it would have been the triumph of my life to assail
and expose them. Why, sir, it was the very plebeian character of this
insurrection that should have warned them against their plan of nursing
and encouraging it. Had the movement been guided by gentlemen, it might
have been politic to have affected ignorance of their intentions till
they had committed themselves beyond retreat; but with this rabble--this
rebellion in rags--to tamper was to foster. You had no need to dig
pitfalls for such people; they never emerged from the depths of
their own ignominious condition. You should have suppressed them at
once,--stopped them before the rebel press had disseminated a catechism
of treason, and instilled the notion through the land that the first
duty of patriotism was assassination.”
“And you would have defended these men?”
“I would have arraigned their accusers, and charged them as accomplices.
I would have told those Castle officials to come down and stand in the
dock with their confederates. What, sir! will you tell me that it was
just or moral, or even politic, to treat these unlettered men as
though they were crafty lawyers, skilled in all the arts to evade the
provisions of a statute? This policy was not unfitted towards _him_ who
boasted he could drive a coach-and-six through any Act of Parliament;
but how could it apply to creatures more ready to commit themselves than
even you were to entrap them? who wanted no seduction to sedition,
and who were far more eager to play traitor than you yourself to play
prosecutor? I say again, I wish I had my youth and my stuff-gown, and
they should have a defender.”
“I am just as well pleased it is as we see it,” muttered Haire.
“Of course you are, sir. There are men who imagine it to be loyal to be
always on the side that is to be strongest.” He took a few turns up
and down the room, his nostrils dilated, and his lips trembling with
excitement. “Do me a favor, Haire,” said he at last, as he approached
and laid his hand on the other's arm. “Go and learn who this gentleman
they have just arrested is. Ascertain whatever you can of the charge
against him,--the refusal of bail implies it is a grave case; and
inquire if you might be permitted to see and speak with him.”
“But I don't want to speak with him. I'd infinitely rather not meet him
at all.”
“Sir, if you go, you go as an emissary from me,” said the Chief,
naughtily, and by a look recalling Haire to all his habitual deference.
“But only imagine if it got abroad--if the papers got hold of it; think
of what a scandal it would be, that the Chief Baron of the Exchequer was
actually in direct communication with a man charged with treason-felony.
I would n't take a thousand pounds, and be accessory to such an
allegation.”
“You shall do it for less, sir. Yes, I repeat it, Haire, for less. Five
shillings' car-hire will amply cover the cost. You shall drive over to
the head-office and ask Mr. Spencer if--of course with the prisoner's
permission--you may be admitted to see him. When I have the reply I will
give you your instructions.”
“I protest I don't see--I mean, I cannot imagine--it's not possible--in
fact, I know, that when you reflect a little over it, you will be
satisfied that this would be a most improper thing to do.”
“And what is this improper thing I am about to do? Let us hear, sir,
what you condemn so decidedly! I declare my libellers must have more
reason than I ever conceded to them. I am growing very, very old! There
must be the blight of age upon my faculties, or you would not have
ventured to administer this lesson to me! this lesson on discretion and
propriety. I would, however, warn you to be cautious. The wounded tiger
is dangerous, though the ball should have penetrated his vitals. I
would counsel you to keep out of reach of his spring, even in his dying
moments.”
He actually shook with passion as he said this, and his hands closed and
opened with a convulsive movement that showed the anger that possessed
him.
“I have never lectured any one; least of all would it occur to me to
lecture you,” said Haire, with much dignity. “In all our intercourse I
have never forgotten the difference between us,--I mean intellectually;
for I hope, as to birth and condition, there is no inequality.”
Though he spoke this slowly and impressively, the Chief Baron heard
nothing of it. He was so overwhelmed by the strong passions of his
own mind that he could not attend to another. “I shall soon be called
incorrigible as well as incompetent,” uttered he, “if the wise counsels
of my ablest friends are powerless to admonish me.”
“I must be moving,” said Haire, rising and taking his hat. “I promised
to dine with Beattie at the Rock.”
“Say nothing of what has taken place here to-day; or if you mention me
at all, say you found me in my usual health.” Haire nodded.
“My usual health and spirits,” continued the Chief. “I was going to say
temper, but it would seem an epigram. Tell Beattie to look in here as he
goes home; there 's one of the children slightly ailing. And so, Haire,”
cried he, suddenly, in a louder voice, “you would insinuate that my
power of judgment is impaired, and that neither in the case of my
granddaughter nor in that larger field of opinion--the state of
Ireland--am I displaying that wisdom or that acuteness on which it was
one time the habit to compliment me.”
“You may be quite right. I won't presume to say you 're not. I only
declare that I don't agree with you.”
“In either case?”
“No; not in either case.”
“I think I shall ride to-day,” said the Chief; for they had now reached
the hall-door, and were looking out over the grassy lawn and the
swelling woods that enclosed it. “You lose much, Haire, in not being a
horseman. What would my critics say if they saw me following the hounds,
eh?”
“I 'll be shot if it would surprise me to see it,” muttered Haire to
himself. “Good-bye.”
“Good-bye, Haire. Come out and see me soon again. I 'll be better
tempered when you come next. You 're not angry with me, I know.”
Haire grasped the hand that was held out to him, and shook it cordially.
“Of course I 'm not. I know well you have scores of things to vex and
irritate you that never touch fellows like myself. I shall never feel
annoyed at anything you may _say_ to _me_. What would really distress me
would be that you should do anything to lower your own reputation.”
The old Judge stood on the doorstep pondering over these last words of
his friend long after his departure. “A good creature--a true-hearted
fellow,” muttered he to himself; “but how limited in intelligence! It
is the law of compensation carried out. Where nature gives integrity she
often grudges intellect. The finer, subtler minds play with right and
wrong till they detect their affinities.--Who are you, my good fellow?
What brings you here?” cried he to a fellow who was lounging in the
copse at the end of the house.
“I 'm a carman, your honor. I 'm going to drive the Colonel to the
railway at Stoneybatter.”
“I never heard that he was about to leave town,” muttered the old Judge.
“I thought he had been confined to bed with a cold these days back.
Cheetor, go and tell Colonel Sewell that I should be much obliged if he
would come over to my study at his earliest convenience.”
“The Colonel will be with you, my Lord, in five minutes,” was the prompt
reply.