And doubt shall be as lead upon the feet
Of thy most anxious will.
Mr. Lyon was careful to look in at Felix as soon as possible after
Christian's departure, to tell him that his trust was discharged. During
the rest of the day he was somewhat relieved from agitating reflections
by the necessity of attending to his ministerial duties, the rebuke of
rebellious singers being one of them; and on his return from the Monday
evening prayer-meeting he was so overcome with weariness that he went to
bed without taking note of any objects in his study. But when he rose
the next morning, his mind, once more eagerly active, was arrested by
Philip Debarry's letter, which still lay open on his desk, and was
arrested by precisely that portion which had been unheeded the day
before:--"_I shall consider myself doubly fortunate if at any time you
can point out to me some method by which I may procure you as lively a
satisfaction as I am now feeling, in that full and speedy relief from
anxiety which I owe to your considerate conduct_."
To understand how these words could carry the suggestion they actually
had for the minister in a crisis of peculiar personal anxiety and
struggle, we must bear in mind that for many years he had walked through
life with the sense of having for a space been unfaithful to what he
esteemed the highest trust ever committed to man--the ministerial
vocation. In a mind of any nobleness, a lapse into transgression against
an object still regarded as supreme, issues in a new and purer
devotedness, chastised by humility and watched over by a passionate
regret. So it was with that ardent spirit which animated the little body
of Rufus Lyon. Once in his life he had been blinded, defeated, hurried
along by rebellious impulse; he had gone astray after his own desires,
and had let the fire die out on the altar; and as the true penitent,
hating his self-besotted error, asks from all coming life duty instead
of joy, and service instead of ease, so Rufus was perpetually on the
watch lest he should ever again postpone to some private affection a
great public opportunity which to him was equivalent to a command.
Now here was an opportunity brought by a combination of that unexpected
incalculable kind which might be regarded as the Divine emphasis
invoking especial attention to trivial events--an opportunity of
securing what Rufus Lyon had often wished for as a means of honoring
truth, and exhibiting error in the character of a stammering, halting,
short-breathed usurper of office and dignity. What was more exasperating
to a zealous preacher, with whom copious speech was not a difficulty but
a relief--who never lacked argument, but only combatants and
listeners--than to reflect that there were thousands on thousands of
pulpits in this kingdom, supplied with handsome sounding-boards, and
occupying an advantageous position in buildings far larger than the
chapel in Malthouse Yard--buildings sure to be places of resort, even as
the markets were, if only from habit and interest; and that these
pulpits were filled, or rather made vacuous, by men whose privileged
education in the ancient centres of instruction issued in twenty
minutes' formal reading of tepid exhortation or probably infirm
deductions from premises based on rotten scaffolding? And it is in the
nature of exasperation gradually to concentrate itself. The sincere
antipathy of a dog toward cats in general, necessarily takes the form of
indignant barking at the neighbor's black cat which makes daily
trespass; the bark at imagined cats, though a frequent exercise of the
canine mind, is yet comparatively feeble. Mr. Lyon's sarcasm was not
without an edge when he dilated in general on an elaborate education for
teachers which issued in the minimum of teaching, but it found a
whetstone in the particular example of that bad system known as the
rector of Treby Magna. There was nothing positive to be said against the
Rev. Augustus Debarry; his life could not be pronounced blameworthy
except for its negatives. And the good Rufus was too pure-minded not to
be glad of that. He had no delight in vice as discrediting wicked
opponents; he shrank from dwelling on the images of cruelty or
grossness, and his indignation was habitually inspired only by those
moral and intellectual mistakes which darken the soul but do not injure
or degrade the temple of the body. If the rector had been a less
respectable man, Rufus would have more reluctantly made him an object
of antagonism; but as an incarnation of soul-destroying error,
dissociated from those baser sins which have no good repute even with
the worldly, it would be an argumentative luxury to get into close
quarters with him, and fight with a dialectic short-sword in the eyes of
the Treby world (sending also a written account thereof to the chief
organs of Dissenting opinion). Vice was essentially stupid--a deaf and
eyeless monster, insusceptible to demonstration: the Spirit might work
on it by unseen ways, and the unstudied sallies of sermons were often as
the arrows which pierced and awakened the brutified conscience; but
illuminated thought, finely divided speech, were the choicer weapons of
the Divine armory, which whoso could wield must be careful not to leave
idle.
Here, then, was the longed-for opportunity. Here was an engagement--an
expression of a strong wish--on the part of Philip Debarry, if it were
in his power, to procure a satisfaction to Rufus Lyon. How had that man
of God and exemplary Independent minister, Mr. Ainsworth, of persecuted
sanctity, conducted himself when a similar occasion had befallen him at
Amsterdam? He had thought of nothing but the glory of the highest cause,
and had converted the offer of recompense into a public debate with a
Jew on the chief mysteries of the faith. Here was a model: the case was
nothing short of a heavenly indication, and he, Rufus Lyon, would seize
the occasion to demand a public debate with the rector on the
constitution of the true Church.
What if he were inwardly torn by doubt and anxiety concerning his own
private relations and the facts of his past life? That danger of
absorption within the narrow bounds of self only urged him the more
toward action which had a wider bearing, and might tell on the welfare
of England at large. It was decided. Before the minister went down to
breakfast that morning he had written the following letter to Mr. Philip
Debarry:--
SIR,--Referring to your letter of yesterday, I find the following
words: "I shall consider myself doubly fortunate if at any time you
can point out to me some method by which I may procure you as
lively a satisfaction as I am now feeling, in that full and speedy
relief from anxiety which I owe to your considerate conduct."
I am not unaware, sir, that, in the usage of the world, there are
words of courtesy (so called) which are understood, by those
amongst whom they are current, to have no precise meaning, and to
constitute no bond of obligation. I will not now insist that this
is an abuse of language, wherein our fallible nature requires the
strictest safeguards against laxity and misapplication, for I do
not apprehend that in writing the words I have above quoted, you
were open to the reproach of using phrases which, while seeming to
carry a specific meaning, were really no more than what is called a
polite form. I believe, sir, that you used these words advisedly,
sincerely, and with an honorable intention of acting on them as a
pledge, should such action be demanded. No other supposition on my
part would correspond to the character you bear as a young man who
aspires (albeit mistakenly) to engraft the finest fruits of public
virtue on a creed and institutions, whereof the sap is composed
rather of human self-seeking than of everlasting truth.
Wherefore I act on this my belief in the integrity of your written
word; I beg you to procure for me (as it is doubtless in your
power) that I may be allowed a public discussion with your near
relative, the rector of this parish, the Reverend Augustus Debarry,
to be held in the large room of the Free School, or in the Assembly
Room of the Marquis of Granby, these being the largest covered
spaces at our command. For I presume he would neither allow me to
speak within his church, nor would consent himself to speak within
my chapel; and the probable inclemency of the approaching season
forbids an assured expectation that we could discourse in the open
air. The subjects I desire to discuss are--first, the Constitution
of the true Church; and secondly, the bearing thereupon of the
English Reformation. Confidently expecting that you will comply
with this request, which is the sequence of your expressed desire,
I remain, sir, yours, with the respect offered to a sincere
withstander,
RUFUS LYON,
Malthouse Yard.
After writing this letter, the good Rufus felt that serenity and
elevation of mind which is infallibly brought by a preoccupation with
the wider relations of things. Already he was beginning to sketch the
course his argument might most judiciously take in the coming debate;
his thoughts were running into sentences, and marking off careful
exceptions in parentheses; and he had come down and seated himself at
the breakfast-table quite automatically, without expectation of toast or
coffee, when Esther's voice and touch recalled to him an inward debate
of another kind, in which he felt himself much weaker. Again there arose
before him the image of that cool, hard-eyed, worldly man, who might be
this dear child's father, and one against whose rights he had himself
grievously offended. Always as the image recurred to him Mr. Lyon's
heart sent forth a prayer for guidance, but no definite guidance had yet
made itself visible for him. It could not be guidance--it was a
temptation--that said, "Let the matter rest: seek to know no more; know
only what is thrust upon you." The remembrance that in his time of
wandering he had wilfully remained in ignorance of facts which he might
have enquired after, deepened the impression that it was now an
imperative duty to seek the fullest attainable knowledge. And the
enquiry might possibly issue in a blessed repose, by putting a negative
on all his suspicions. But the more vividly all the circumstances became
present to him, the more unfit he felt himself to set about any
investigation concerning this man who called himself Maurice Christian.
He could seek no confidant or helper among "the brethren"; he was
obliged to admit to himself that the members of his church, with whom he
hoped to go to heaven, were not easy to converse with on earth touching
the deeper secrets of his experience, and were still less able to advise
him as to the wisest procedure in a case of high delicacy, with a
worldling who had a carefully-trimmed whisker and a fashionable costume.
For the first time in his life it occurred to the minister that he
should be glad of an adviser who had more worldly than spiritual
experience, and that it might not be inconsistent with his principles to
seek some light from one who had studied human law. But it was a thought
to be paused upon, and not followed out rashly; some other guidance
might intervene.
Esther noticed that her father was in a fit of abstraction, that he
seemed to swallow his coffee and toast quite unconsciously, and that he
vented from time to time a low guttural interjection, which was habitual
with him when he was absorbed by an inward discussion. She did not
disturb him by remarks, and only wondered whether anything unusual had
occurred on Sunday evening. But at last she thought it needful to say,
"You recollect what I told you yesterday, father?"
"Nay, child; what?" said Mr. Lyon, rousing himself.
"That Mr. Jermyn asked me if you would probably be at home this morning
before one o'clock."
Esther was surprised to see her father start and change color as if he
had been shaken by some sudden collision before he answered--
"Assuredly; I do not intend to move from my study after I have once been
out to hand this letter to Zachary."
"Shall I tell Lyddy to take him up at once to your study if he comes? If
not, I shall have to stay in my own room, because I shall be at home all
this morning, and it is rather cold now to sit without a fire."
"Yes, my dear, let him come up to me; unless, indeed, he should bring a
second person, which might happen, seeing that in all likelihood he is
coming, as hitherto, on electioneering business. And I could not well
accommodate two visitors up-stairs."
When Mr. Lyon went out to Zachary, the pew-opener, to give him a second
time the commission of carrying a letter to Treby Manor, Esther gave her
injunction to Lyddy that if one gentleman came he was to be shown
up-stairs--if two, they were to be shown into the parlor. But she had to
resolve several questions before Lyddy clearly saw what was before
her--as that, "if it was the gentleman as came on Thursday in the
pepper-and-salt coat, was he to be shown up-stairs? And the gentleman
from the Manor yesterday as went out whistling--had Miss Esther heard
about him? There seemed no end of these great folks coming to Malthouse
Yard since there was talk of the election; but they might be poor lost
creatures the most of 'em." Whereupon Lyddy shook her head and groaned,
under an edifying despair as to the future lot of gentlemen callers.
Esther always avoided asking questions of Lyddy, who found an answer as
she found a key, by pouring out a pocketful of miscellanies. But she had
remarked so many indications that something had happened to cause her
father unusual excitement and mental preoccupation, that she could not
help connecting with them the fact of this visit from the Manor, which
he had not mentioned to her.
She sat down in the dull parlor and took up her netting; for since
Sunday she had felt unable to read when she was alone, being obliged, in
spite of herself, to think of Felix Holt--to imagine what he would like
her to be, and what sort of views he took of life so as to make it seem
valuable in the absence of all elegance, luxury, gayety, or romance. Had
he yet reflected that he had behaved very rudely to her on Sunday?
Perhaps not. Perhaps he had dismissed her from his mind with contempt.
And at that thought Esther's eyes smarted unpleasantly. She was fond of
netting, because it showed to advantage both her hand and her foot; and
across this image of Felix Holt's indifference and contempt there passed
the vaguer image of a possible somebody who would admire her hands and
feet, and delight in looking at their beauty, and long, yet not dare, to
kiss them. Life would be much easier in the presence of such a love. But
it was precisely this longing after her own satisfaction that Felix had
reproached her with. Did he want her to be heroic? That seemed
impossible without some great occasion. Her life was a heap of
fragments, and so were her thoughts: some great energy was needed to
bind them together. Esther was beginning to lose her complacency at her
own wit and criticism; to lose the sense of superiority in an awakening
need of reliance on one whose vision was wider, whose nature was purer
and stronger than her own. But then, she said to herself, that "one"
must be tender to her, not rude and predominating in his manners. A man
with any chivalry in him could never adopt a scolding tone toward a
woman--that is, toward a charming woman. But Felix had no chivalry in
him. He loved lecturing and opinion too well ever to love any woman.
In this way Esther strove to see that Felix was thoroughly in the
wrong--at least, if he did not come again expressly to show that he was
sorry.