Life's Little Ironies, Thomas Hardy [reading well .txt] 📗

it, you will see.  I’d half starve myself rather than take her away from that school now.’

They looked round the school they were in.  To Cornelius it was natural and familiar enough, but to Joshua, with his limited human sympathies, who had just dropped in from a superior sort of place, the sight jarred unpleasantly, as being that of something he had left behind.  ‘I shall be glad when you are out of this,’ he said, ‘and in your pulpit, and well through your first sermon.’

‘You may as well say inducted into my fat living, while you are about it.’

‘Ah, well—don’t think lightly of the Church.  There’s a fine work for any man of energy in the Church, as you’ll find,’ he said fervidly.  ‘Torrents of infidelity to be stemmed, new views of old subjects to be expounded, truths in spirit to be substituted for truths in the letter . . . ’  He lapsed into reverie with the vision of his career, persuading himself that it was ardour for Christianity which spurred him on, and not pride of place.  He had shouldered a body of doctrine, and was prepared to defend it tooth and nail, solely for the honour and glory that warriors win.

‘If the Church is elastic, and stretches to the shape of the time, she’ll last, I suppose,’ said Cornelius.  ‘If not—.  Only think, I bought a copy of Paley’s Evidences, best edition, broad margins, excellent preservation, at a bookstall the other day for—ninepence; and I thought that at this rate Christianity must be in rather a bad way.’

‘No, no!’ said the other almost, angrily.  ‘It only shows that such defences are no longer necessary.  Men’s eyes can see the truth without extraneous assistance.  Besides, we are in for Christianity, and must stick to her whether or no.  I am just now going right through Pusey’s Library of the Fathers.’

‘You’ll be a bishop, Joshua, before you have done!’

‘Ah!’ said the other bitterly, shaking his head.  ‘Perhaps I might have been—I might have been!  But where is my D.D. or LL.D.; and how be a bishop without that kind of appendage?  Archbishop Tillotson was the son of a Sowerby clothier, but he was sent to Clare College.  To hail Oxford or Cambridge as alma mater is not for me—for us!  My God! when I think of what we should have been—what fair promise has been blighted by that cursed, worthless—’

‘Hush, hush! . . . But I feel it, too, as much as you.  I have seen it more forcibly lately.  You would have obtained your degree long before this time—possibly fellowship—and I should have been on my way to mine.’

‘Don’t talk of it,’ said the other.  ‘We must do the best we can.’

They looked out of the window sadly, through the dusty panes, so high up that only the sky was visible.  By degrees the haunting trouble loomed again, and Cornelius broke the silence with a whisper: ‘He has called on me!’

The living pulses died on Joshua’s face, which grew arid as a clinker.  ‘When was that?’ he asked quickly.

‘Last week.’

‘How did he get here—so many miles?’

‘Came by railway.  He came to ask for money.’

‘Ah!’

‘He says he will call on you.’

Joshua replied resignedly.  The theme of their conversation spoilt his buoyancy for that afternoon.  He returned in the evening, Cornelius accompanying him to the station; but he did not read in the train which took him back to the Fountall Theological College, as he had done on the way out.  That ineradicable trouble still remained as a squalid spot in the expanse of his life.  He sat with the other students in the cathedral choir next day; and the recollection of the trouble obscured the purple splendour thrown by the panes upon the floor.

It was afternoon.  All was as still in the Close as a cathedral-green can be between the Sunday services, and the incessant cawing of the rooks was the only sound.  Joshua Halborough had finished his ascetic lunch, and had gone into the library, where he stood for a few moments looking out of the large window facing the green.  He saw walking slowly across it a man in a fustian coat and a battered white hat with a much-ruffled nap, having upon his arm a tall gipsy-woman wearing long brass earrings.  The man was staring quizzically at the west front of the cathedral, and Halborough recognized in him the form and features of his father.  Who the woman was he knew not.  Almost as soon as Joshua became conscious of these things, the sub-dean, who was also the principal of the college, and of whom the young man stood in more awe than of the Bishop himself, emerged from the gate and entered a path across the Close.  The pair met the dignitary, and to Joshua’s horror his father turned and addressed the sub-dean.

What passed between them he could not tell.  But as he stood in a cold sweat he saw his father place his hand familiarly on the sub-dean’s shoulder; the shrinking response of the latter, and his quick withdrawal, told his feeling.  The woman seemed to say nothing, but when the sub-dean had passed by they came on towards the college gate.

Halborough flew along the corridor and out at a side door, so as to intercept them before they could reach the front entrance, for which they were making.  He caught them behind a clump of laurel.

‘By Jerry, here’s the very chap!  Well, you’re a fine fellow, Jos, never to send your father as much as a twist o’ baccy on such an occasion, and to leave him to travel all these miles to find ye out!’

‘First, who is this?’ said Joshua Halborough with pale dignity, waving his hand towards the buxom woman with the great earrings.

‘Dammy, the mis’ess!  Your step-mother!  Didn’t you know I’d married?  She helped me home from market one night, and we came to terms, and struck the bargain.  Didn’t we, Selinar?’

‘Oi, by the great Lord an’ we did!’ simpered the lady.

‘Well, what sort of a place is this you are living in?’ asked the millwright.  ‘A kind of house-of-correction, apparently?’

Joshua listened abstractedly, his features set to resignation.  Sick at heart he was going to ask them if they were in want of any necessary, any meal, when his father cut him short by saying, ‘Why, we’ve called to ask ye to come round and take pot-luck with us at the Cock-and-Bottle, where we’ve put up for the day, on our way to see mis’ess’s friends at Binegar Fair, where they’ll be lying under canvas for a night or two.  As for the victuals at the Cock I can’t testify to ’em at all; but for the drink, they’ve the rarest drop of Old Tom that I’ve tasted for many a year.’

‘Thanks; but I am a teetotaller; and I have lunched,’ said Joshua, who could fully believe his father’s testimony to the gin, from the odour of his breath.  ‘You see we have to observe regular habits here; and I couldn’t be seen at the Cock-and-Bottle just now.’

‘O dammy, then don’t come, your reverence.  Perhaps you won’t mind standing treat for those who can be seen there?’

‘Not a penny,’ said the younger firmly.  ‘You’ve had enough already.’

‘Thank you for nothing.  By the bye, who was that spindle-legged, shoe-buckled parson feller we met by now?  He seemed to think we should poison him!’

Joshua remarked coldly that it was the principal of his college, guardedly inquiring, ‘Did you tell him whom you were come to see?’

His father did not reply.  He and his strapping gipsy wife—if she were his wife—stayed no longer, and disappeared in the direction of the High Street.  Joshua Halborough went back to the library.  Determined as was his nature, he wept hot tears upon the books, and was immeasurably more wretched that afternoon than the unwelcome millwright.  In the evening he sat down and wrote a letter to his brother, in which, after stating what had happened, and expatiating upon this new disgrace in the gipsy wife, he propounded a plan for raising money sufficient to induce the couple to emigrate to Canada.  ‘It is our only chance,’ he said.  ‘The case as it stands is maddening.  For a successful painter, sculptor, musician, author, who takes society by storm, it is no drawback, it is sometimes even a romantic recommendation, to hail from outcasts and profligates.  But for a clergyman of the Church of England!  Cornelius, it is fatal!  To succeed in the Church, people must believe in you, first of all, as a gentleman, secondly as a man of means, thirdly as a scholar, fourthly as a preacher, fifthly, perhaps, as a Christian,—but always first as a gentleman, with all their heart and soul and strength.  I would have faced the fact of being a small machinist’s son, and have taken my chance, if he’d been in any sense respectable and decent.  The essence of Christianity is humility, and by the help of God I would have brazened it out.  But this terrible vagabondage and disreputable connection!  If he does not accept my terms and leave the country, it will extinguish us and kill me.  For how can we live, and relinquish our high aim, and bring down our dear sister Rosa to the level of a gipsy’s step-daughter?’

CHAPTER III

There was excitement in the parish of Narrobourne one day.  The congregation had just come out from morning service, and the whole conversation was of the new curate, Mr. Halborough, who had officiated for the first time, in the absence of the rector.

Never before had the feeling of the villagers approached a level which could be called excitement on such a matter as this.  The droning which had been the rule in that quiet old place for a century seemed ended at last.  They repeated the text to each other as a refrain: ‘O Lord, be thou my helper!’  Not within living memory till to-day had the subject of the sermon formed the topic of conversation from the church door to church-yard gate, to the exclusion of personal remarks on those who had been present, and on the week’s news in general.

The thrilling periods of the preacher hung about their minds all that day.  The parish being steeped in indifferentism, it happened that when the youths and maidens, middle-aged and old people, who had attended church that morning, recurred as by a fascination to what Halborough had said, they did so more or less indirectly, and even with the subterfuge of a light laugh that was not real, so great was their shyness under the novelty of their sensations.

What was more curious than that these unconventional villagers should have been excited by a preacher of a new school after forty years of familiarity with the old hand who had had charge of their souls, was the effect of Halborough’s address upon the occupants of the manor-house pew, including the owner of the estate.  These thought they knew how to discount the mere sensational sermon, how to minimize flash oratory to its bare proportions; but they had yielded like the rest of the assembly to the charm of the newcomer.

Mr. Fellmer, the landowner, was a young widower, whose mother, still in the prime of life, had returned to her old position in the family mansion since the death of her son’s wife in the year after her marriage, at the birth of a fragile little girl.  From the date of his loss to the present time, Fellmer had led an inactive existence in the seclusion of the parish; a lack of motive seemed to leave him listless.  He had gladly reinstated his mother in the gloomy house, and his main occupation now lay in stewarding his estate, which was not large.  Mrs. Fellmer, who had sat beside him under Halborough this morning, was a cheerful, straightforward woman, who did her marketing and her alms-giving in person, was fond of old-fashioned flowers, and walked about the village on