Book 4 Chapter 15
During the week of political agitation which terminated with theinglorious catastrophe of the Bedchamber plot, Sybil remained tranquil,and would have been scarcely conscious of what was disturbing so manyright honourable hearts, had it not been for the incidental noticeof their transactions by her father and his friends. To the chartistsindeed the factious embroilment at first was of no great moment,except as the breaking up and formation of cabinets might delaythe presentation of the National Petition. They had long ceased todistinguish between the two parties who then and now contend for power.And they were tight. Between the noble lord who goes out and the righthonourable gentleman who comes in, where is the distinctive principle?A shadowy difference may be simulated in opposition, to serve a cry andstimulate the hustings: but the mask is not even worn in Downing Street:and the conscientious conservative seeks in the pigeon-holes of awhig bureau for the measures against which for ten years he has beensanctioning by the speaking silence of an approving nod, a general wailof frenzied alarm.
Once it was otherwise; once the people recognised a party in the statewhose principles identified them with the rights and privileges of themultitude: but when they found the parochial constitution of the countrysacrificed without a struggle, and a rude assault made on all localinfluences in order to establish a severely organised centralisation, ablow was given to the influence of the priest and of the gentleman, theancient champions of the people against arbitrary courts and rapaciousparliaments, from which they will find that it requires no ordinarycourage and wisdom to recover.
The unexpected termination of the events of May, 1839, in there-establishment in power of a party confessedly too weak to carry onthe parliamentary government of the country, was viewed however bythe chartists in a very different spirit to that with which they hadwitnessed the outbreak of these transactions. It had unquestionably atendency to animate their efforts, and imparted a bolder tone to theirfuture plans and movements. They were encouraged to try a fall witha feeble administration. Gerard from this moment became engrossedin affairs; his correspondence greatly increased; and he was so muchoccupied that Sybil saw daily less and less of her father.
It was on the morning after the day that Hatton had made his first andunlooked-for visit in Smith's Square, some of the delegates who hadcaught the rumour of the resignation of the whigs had called early onGerard, and he had soon after left the house in their company; and Sybilwas alone. The strange incidents of the preceding day were revolvingin her mind, as her eye wandered vaguely over her book. The presence ofthat Hatton who had so often and in such different scenes occupiedtheir conversation the re-appearance of that stranger, whose unexpectedentrance into their little world had eighteen months ago so often lentinterest and pleasure to their life--these were materials for pensivesentiment. Mr Franklin had left some gracious memories with Sybil; thenatural legacy of one so refined, intelligent, and gentle, whose temperseemed never ruffled, and who evidently so sincerely relished theirsociety. Mowedale rose before her in all the golden beauty of itsautumnal hour; their wild rambles and hearty greetings and earnestconverse, when her father returned from his daily duties and his eyekindled with pleasure as the accustomed knock announced the arrival ofhis almost daily companion. In spite of the excitement of the passingmoment, its high hopes and glorious aspirations, and visions perchanceof greatness and of power, the eye of Sybil was dimmed with emotion asshe recalled that innocent and tranquil dream.
Her father had heard from Franklin after his departure more than once;but his letters, though abounding in frank expressions of deepinterest in the welfare of Gerard and his daughter, were in some degreeconstrained: a kind of reserve seemed to envelope him; they neverlearnt anything of his life and duties: he seemed sometimes as it weremeditating a departure from his country. There was undoubtedly about himsomething mysterious and unsatisfactory. Morley was of opinion that hewas a spy; Gerard, less suspicious, ultimately concluded that he washarassed by his creditors, and when at Mowedale was probably hiding fromthem.
And now the mystery was at length dissolved. And what an explanation!A Norman, a noble, an oppressor of the people, a plunderer of thechurch--all the characters and capacities that Sybil had been bred up tolook upon with fear and aversion, and to recognise as the authors of thedegradation of her race.
Sybil sighed: the door opened and Egremont stood before her. Theblood rose to her cheek, her heart trembled; for the first time in hispresence she felt embarrassed and constrained. His countenance on thecontrary was collected; serious and pale.
"I am an intruder," he said advancing, "but I wish much to speak toyou," and he seated himself near her. There was a momentary pause. "Youseemed to treat with scorn yesterday," resumed Egremont in accentsless sustained, "the belief that sympathy was independent of themere accidents of position. Pardon me, Sybil, but even you may beprejudiced." He paused.
"I should be sorry to treat anything you said with scorn," replied Sybilin a subdued tone. "Many things happened yesterday," she added, "whichmight be offered as some excuse for an unguarded word."
"Would that it had been unguarded!" said Egremont in a voice ofmelancholy. "I could have endured it with less repining. No, Sybil, Ihave known you, I have had the happiness and the sorrow of knowing youtoo well to doubt the convictions of your mind, or to believe that theycan be lightly removed, and yet I would strive to remove them. Youlook upon me as an enemy, as a natural foe, because I am born among theprivileged. I am a man, Sybil, as well as a noble." Again he paused; shelooked down, but did not speak.
"And can I not feel for men, my fellows, whatever be their lot? I knowyou will deny it; but you are in error, Sybil; you have formed youropinions upon tradition, not upon experience. The world that exists isnot the world of which you have read; the class that calls itself yoursuperior is not the same class as ruled in the time of your fathers.There is a change in them as in all other things, and I participate thatchange. I shared it before I knew you, Sybil; and if it touched me then,at least believe it does not influence me less now."
"If there be a change," said Sybil, "it is because in some degree thePeople have learnt their strength."
"Ah! dismiss from your mind those fallacious fancies," said Egremont."The People are not strong; the People never can be strong. Theirattempts at self-vindication will end only in their suffering andconfusion. It is civilisation that has effected, that is effecting thischange. It is that increased knowledge of themselves that teaches theeducated their social duties. There is a dayspring in the history ofthis nation which those who are on the mountain tops can as yet perhapsonly recognize. You deem you are in darkness, and I see a dawn. Thenew generation of the aristocracy of England are not tyrants, notoppressors, Sybil, as you persist in believing. Their intelligence,better than that, their hearts are open to the responsibility of theirposition. But the work that is before them is no holiday-work. It is notthe fever of superficial impulse that can remove the deep-fixed barriersof centuries of ignorance and crime. Enough that their sympathies areawakened; time and thought will bring the rest. They are the naturalleaders of the People, Sybil; believe me they are the only ones."
"The leaders of the People are those whom the People trust," said Sybilrather haughtily.
"And who may betray them," said Egremont.
"Betray them!" exclaimed Sybil. "And can you believe that my father--"
"No, no; you can feel, Sybil, though I cannot express, how much I honouryour father. But he stands alone in the singleness and purity of hisheart. Who surround him?"
"Those whom the People have also chosen; and from a like confidence intheir virtues and abilities. They are a senate supported by the sympathyof millions, with only one object in view--the emancipation of theirrace. It is a sublime spectacle, these delegates of labour advocatingthe sacred cause in a manner which might shame your haughty factions.What can resist a demonstration so truly national! What can withstandthe supremacy of its moral power!"
Her eye met
the glance of Egremont. That brow full of thought andmajesty was fixed on his. He encountered that face radiant as aseraph's; those dark eyes flashing with the inspiration of the martyr.
Egremont rose, moved slowly to the window, gazed in abstraction for afew moments on the little garden with its dank turf that no foot evertrod, its mutilated statue and its mouldering frescoes. What a silence;how profound! What a prospect: how drear! Suddenly he turned, andadvancing with a more rapid pace: he approached Sybil. Her head wasaverted, and leaning on her left arm she seemed lost in reverie.Egremont fell upon his knee and gently taking her hand he pressed itto his lips. She started, she looked round, agitated, alarmed, whilehe breathed forth in tremulous accents, "Let me express to you myadoration!
"Ah! not now for the first time, but for ever; from the moment I firstbeheld you in the starlit arch of Marney has your spirit ruled my beingand softened every spring of my affections. I followed you to your home,and lived for a time content in the silent worship of your nature. WhenI came the last morning to the cottage, it was to tell, and to ask,all. Since then for a moment your image has never been absent from myconsciousness; your picture consecrates my hearth and your approval hasbeen the spur of my career. Do not reject my love; it is deep asyour nature, and fervent as my own. Banish those prejudices that haveembittered your existence, and if persisted in may wither mine. Deignto retain this hand! If I be a noble I have none of the accidents ofnobility: I cannot offer you wealth, splendour, or power; but I canoffer you the devotion of an entranced being--aspirations that you shallguide--an ambition that you shall govern!"
"These words are mystical and wild," said Sybil with an amazed air;"they come upon me with convulsive suddenness." And she paused for aninstant, collecting as it were her mind with an expression almost ofpain upon her countenance. "These changes of life are so strangeand rapid that it seems to me I can scarcely meet them. You are LordMarney's brother; it was but yesterday--only but yesterday--I learnt it.I thought then I had lost your friendship, and now you speak of--love!
"Love of me! Retain your hand and share your life and fortunes! Youforget what I am. But though I learnt only yesterday what you are, Iwill not be so remiss. Once you wrote upon a page you were my faithfulfriend: and I have pondered over that line with kindness often. I willbe your faithful friend; I will recall you to yourself. I will at leastnot bring you shame and degradation."
"O! Sybil, beloved, beautiful Sybil--not such bitter words; no, no!"
"No bitterness to you! that would indeed be harsh," and she covered withher hand her streaming eyes.
"Why what is this?" after a pause and with an effort she exclaimed."An union between the child and brother of nobles and a daughter ofthe people! Estrangement from your family, and with cause, their hopesdestroyed, their pride outraged; alienation from your order, and justly,all their prejudices insulted. You will forfeit every source of worldlycontent and cast off every spring of social success. Society for youwill become a great confederation to deprive you of self-complacency.And rightly. Will you not be a traitor to the cause? No, no, kindfriend, for such I'll call you. Your opinion of me, too good and greatas I feel it, touches me deeply. I am not used to such passages in life;I have read of such. Pardon me, feel for me, if I receive them with somedisorder. They sound to me for the first time--and for the last. Perhapsthey ought never to have reached my ear. No matter now--I have a life ofpenitence before me, and I trust I shall be pardoned." And she wept.
"You have indeed punished me for the fatal accident of birth, if itdeprives me of you."
"Not so," she added weeping; "I shall never be the bride of earth; andbut for one whose claims though earthly are to me irresistible, I shouldhave ere this forgotten my hereditary sorrows in the cloister."
All this time Egremont had retained her hand, which she had notattempted to withdraw. He had bent his head over it as she spoke--it wastouched with his tears. For some moments there was silence; then lookingup and in a smothered voice Egremont made one more effort to induceSybil to consider his suit. He combated her views as to the importanceto him of the sympathies of his family and of society; he detailedto her his hopes and plans for their future welfare; he dwelt withpassionate eloquence on his abounding love. But with a solemn sweetness,and as it were a tender inflexibility, the tears trickling down herbeautiful cheek, and pressing his hand in both of hers, she subdued andput aside all his efforts.
"Believe me," she said, "the gulf is impassable."
END OF THE FOURTH BOOK
BOOK V
Book 5 Chapter 1