Felix Holt, the Radical

  CHAPTER XIX.

  Consistency?--I never changed my mind, Which is, and always was, to live at ease.

  It was only in the time of summer fairs that the market-place had everlooked more animated than it did under that autumn midday sun. Therewere plenty of blue cockades and streamers, faces at all the windows,and a crushing buzzing crowd, urging each other backward and forwardround the small hustings in front of the Ram Inn, which showed its moreplebeian sign at right angles with the venerable Marquis of Granby.Sometimes there were scornful shouts, sometimes a rolling cascade ofcheers, sometimes the shriek of a penny whistle; but above all thesefitful and feeble sounds, the fine old church-tower, which looked downfrom above the trees on the other side of the narrow stream, sentvibrating, at every quarter, the sonorous tones of its great bell, theGood Queen Bess.

  Two carriages, with blue ribbons on the harness, were conspicuous nearthe hustings. One was Jermyn's, filled with the brilliantly-attireddaughters, accompanied by Esther, whose quieter dress helped to mark herout for attention as the most striking of the group. The other wasHarold Transome's; but in this there was no lady--only the olive-skinnedDominic, whose acute yet mild face was brightened by the occupation ofamusing little Harry and rescuing from his tyrannies a King Charlespuppy, with big eyes, much after the pattern of the boy's.

  This Trebian crowd did not count for much in the political force of thenation, but it was not the less determined as to lending or not lendingits ears. No man was permitted to speak from the platform except Haroldand his uncle Lingon, though, in the interval of expectation, severalLiberals had come forward. Among these ill-advised persons the one whoseattempt met the most emphatic resistance was Rufus Lyon. This might havebeen taken for resentment at the unreasonableness of the cloth, that,not content with pulpits, from whence to tyrannize over the ears of men,wishes to have the larger share of the platforms; but it was not so, forMr. Lingon was heard with much cheering, and would have been welcomedagain.

  The rector of Little Treby had been a favorite in the neighborhood sincethe beginning of the century. A clergyman thoroughly unclerical in hishabits had a piquancy about him which made him a sort of practical joke.He had always been called Jack Lingon, or Parson Jack--sometimes, inolder and less serious days, even "Cock-fighting Jack." He swore alittle when the point of a joke seemed to demand it, and was fond ofwearing a colored bandana tied loosely over his cravat, together withlarge brown leather leggings; he spoke in a pithy familiar way thatpeople could understand, and had none of that frigid mincingness calleddignity, which some have thought a peculiar clerical disease. In fact,he was "a charicter--" something cheerful to think of, not entirely outof connection with Sunday and sermons. And it seemed in keeping that heshould have turned sharp round in politics, his opinions being onlypart of the excellent joke called Parson Jack. When his red eagle faceand white hair were seen on the platform, the Dissenters hardly cheeredthis questionable Radical; but to make amends, all the Tory farmers gavehim a friendly "hurray." "Let's hear what old Jack will say forhimself," was the predominant feeling among them; "he'll have somethingfunny to say, I'll bet a penny."

  It was only Lawyer Labron's young clerks and their hangers-on who weresufficiently dead to Trebian traditions to assail the parson withvarious sharp-edged interjections, such as broken shells, and cries of"Cock-a-doodle-doo."

  "Come now, my lads," he began, in his full, pompous, yet jovial tones,thrusting his hands into the stuffed-out pockets of his greatcoat, "I'lltell you what; I'm a parson you know; I ought to return good for evil.So here are some good nuts for you to crack in return for your shells."

  There was a roar of laughter and cheering as he threw handfuls of nutsand filberts among the crowd.

  "Come now, you'll say I used to be a Tory; and some of you, whose facesI know as well as I know the head of my own crab-stick, will say that'swhy I'm a good fellow. But now I'll tell you something else. It's forthat very reason--that I used to be a Tory, and am a good fellow--that Igo along with my nephew here, who is a thorough-going Liberal. For willanybody here come forward and say, 'A good fellow has no need to tackabout and change his road?' No, there's not one of you such a Tom-noddy.What's good for one time is bad for another. If anybody contradictsthat, ask him to eat pickled pork when he's thirsty, and to bathe in theLapp there when the spikes of ice are shooting. And that's the reasonwhy the men who are the best Liberals now are the very men who used tobe the best Tories. There isn't a nastier horse than your horse that'lljib and back and turn round when there is but one road for him to go,and that's the road before him.

  "And my nephew here--he comes of a Tory breed, you know--I'll answer forthe Lingons. In the old Tory times there was never a pup belonged to aLingon but would howl if a Whig came near him. The Lingon blood is good,rich old Tory blood--like good rich milk--and that's why, when the righttime comes, it throws up a liberal cream. The best sort of Tory turns tothe best sort of Radical. There's plenty of Radical scum--I say, bewareof the scum, and look but for the cream. And here's my nephew--some ofthe cream, if there is any: none of your Whigs, none of your paintedwater that looks as if it ran, and it's standing still all the while;none of your spinning-jenny fellows. A gentleman; but up to all sorts ofbusiness. I'm no fool myself; I'm forced to wink a good deal, for fearof seeing too much, for a neighborly man must let himself be cheated alittle. But though I've never been out of my own country, I know lessabout it than my nephew does. You may tell what he is, and only look athim. There's one sort of fellow sees nothing but the end of his ownnose, and another sort that sees nothing but the hinder side of themoon but my nephew Harold is of another sort; he sees everything that'sat hitting distance, and he's not one to miss his mark. A good-lookingman in his prime! Not a greenhorn; not a shrivelled old fellow, who'llcome to speak to you and find he's left his teeth at home by mistake.Harold Transome will do you credit; if anybody says the Radicals are aset of sneaks, Brummagem half-pennies, scamps who want to playpitch-and-toss with the property of the country, you can say, 'Look atthe member for North Loamshire!' And mind what you'll hear him say;he'll go in for making everything right--Poor-laws and Charities andChurch--he wants to reform 'em all. Perhaps you'll say, 'There's thatParson Lingon talking about Church Reform--why, he belongs to the Churchhimself--he wants reforming too.' Well, well, wait a bit, and you'llhear by-and-by that old Parson Lingon is reformed--shoots no more,cracks his joke no more, has drunk his last bottle: the dogs, the oldpointers, will be sorry; but you'll hear that the Parson at Little Trebyis a new man. That's what Church Reform is sure to come to before long.So now here are some more nuts for you, lads, and I leave you to listento your candidate. Here he is--give him a good hurray; wave your hats,and I'll begin. Hurray!"

  Harold had not been quite confident beforehand as to the good effect ofhis uncle's introduction but he was soon reassured. There was no acridpartisanship among the old-fashioned Tories who mustered strong aboutthe Marquis of Granby, and Parson Jack had put them in a good humor.Harold's only interruption came from his own party. The oratorical clerkat the Factory, acting as the tribune of the Dissenting interest, andfeeling bound to put questions, might have been troublesome; but hisvoice being unpleasantly sharp, while Harold's was full andpenetrating, the questioning was cried down. Harold's speech "did": itwas not of the glib-nonsensical sort, not ponderous, nothesitating--which is as much as to say, that it was remarkable amongBritish speeches. Read in print the next day, perhaps it would beneither pregnant nor conclusive, which is saying no more than that itsexcellence was not of an abnormal kind, but such as is usually found inthe best efforts of eloquent candidates. Accordingly, the applausedrowned the opposition, and content predominated.

  But, perhaps, the moment of most diffusive pleasure from public speakingis that in which the speech ceases and the audience can turn tocommenting on it. The one speech, sometimes uttered under greatresponsibility as to missiles and other consequences, has given a textto twenty speakers who are under no responsibility. Even in th
e days ofduelling a man was not challenged for being a bore, nor does thisquality apparently hinder him from being much invited to dinner, whichis the great index of social responsibility in a less barbarous age.

  Certainly the crowd in the market-place seemed to experience thisculminating enjoyment when the speaking on the platform in front of theRam had ceased, and there were no less than three orators holding forthfrom the elevation of chance vehicles, not at all to the prejudice ofthe talking among those who were on a level with their neighbors. Therewas little ill-humor among the listeners, for Queen Bess was strikingthe last quarter before two, and a savory smell from the inn kitchensinspired them with an agreeable consciousness that the speakers werehelping to trifle away the brief time before dinner.

  Two or three of Harold's committee had lingered talking to each other onthe platform, instead of re-entering; and Jermyn, after coming out tospeak to one of them, had turned to the corner near which the carriageswere standing, that he might tell the Transome's coachman to drive roundto the side door and signal to his own coachman to follow. But adialogue which was going on below induced him to pause, and instead ofgiving the order, to assume the air of a careless gazer. Christian, whomthe attorney had already observed looking out of a window at the Marquisof Granby, was talking to Dominic. The meeting appeared to be one of newrecognition, for Christian was saying:

  "You've not got gray, as I have, Mr. Lenoni; you're not a day older forthe sixteen years. But no wonder you didn't know me; I'm bleached like adried bone."

  "Not so. It is true I was confused a meenute--I could put your facenowhere; but, after that, Naples came behind it, and I said, Mr.Creesstian. And so you reside at the Manor, and I am at Transome Court."

  "Ah! it's a thousand pities you're not on our side, else we might havedined together at the Marquis," said Christian. "Eh, could you manageit?" he added, languidly, knowing there was no chance of a yes.

  "No--much obliged--couldn't leave the leetle boy. Ahi! Arry, Arry, pinchnot poor Moro."

  While Dominic was answering, Christian had stared about him, as hismanner was when he was being spoken to, and had had his eyes arrested byEsther, who was leaning forward to look at Mr. Harold Transome'sextraordinary little gypsy of a son. But, happening to meet Christian'sstare, she felt annoyed, drew back, and turned away her head, coloring.

  "Who are those ladies?" said Christian, in a low tone, to Dominic, as ifhe had been startled into a sudden wish for this information.

  "They are Meester Jermyn's daughters," said Dominic, who knew nothingeither of the lawyer's family or of Esther.

  Christian looked puzzled a moment or two, and was silent.

  "Oh, well--_au revoir_," he said, kissing the tips of his fingers as thecoachman, having had Jermyn's order, began to urge on the horses.

  "Does he see some likeness in the girl?" thought Jermyn, as he turnedaway. "I wish I hadn't invited her to come in the carriage, as ithappens."