Ravenshoe

  CHAPTER IV.

  FATHER MACKWORTH.

  I have noticed that the sayings and doings of young gentlemen beforethey come to the age of, say seven or eight, are hardly interesting toany but their immediate relations and friends. I have my eye, at thismoment, on a young gentleman of the mature age of two, the instances ofwhose sagacity and eloquence are of greater importance, and certainlymore pleasant, to me, than the projects of Napoleon, or the orations ofBright. And yet I fear that even his most brilliant joke, if committedto paper, would fall dead upon the public ear; and so, for the present,I shall leave Charles Ravenshoe to the care of Norah, and pass on tosome others who demand our attention more.

  The first thing which John Mackworth remembered was his being left inthe _loge_ of a French school at Rouen by an English footman. Trying topush back his memory further, he always failed to conjure up anyprevious recollection to that. He had certainly a very indistinct one ofhaving been happier, and having lived quietly in pleasant country placeswith a kind woman who talked English; but his first decided impressionalways remained the same--that of being, at six years old, leftfriendless, alone, among twenty or thirty French boys older thanhimself.

  His was a cruel fate. He would have been happier apprenticed to acollier. If the man who sent him there had wished to inflict theheaviest conceivable punishment on the poor unconscious little innocent,he could have done no more than simply left him at that school. We shallsee how he found out at last who his benefactor was.

  English boys are sometimes brutal to one another (though not so often assome wish to make out), and are always rough. Yet I must say, as far asmy personal experience goes, the French boy is entirely master in theart of tormenting. He never strikes; he does not know how to clench hisfist. He is an arrant coward, according to an English schoolboy'sdefinition of the word: but at pinching, pulling hair, ear pulling, andthat class of annoyance, all the natural ingenuity of his nation comesout, and he is superb; add to this a combined insolent studied sarcasm,and you have an idea of what a disagreeable French schoolboy can be.

  To say that the boys at poor John Mackworth's school put all thesemethods of torture in force against him, and ten times more, is to giveone but a faint idea of his sufferings. The English at that time werehated with a hatred which we in these sober times have but little ideaof; and, with the cannon of Trafalgar ringing as it were in their ears,these young French gentlemen seized on Mackworth as a lawful prizeprovidentially delivered into their hands. We do not know what he mayhave been under happier auspices, or what he may be yet with a morefavourable start in another life; we have only to do with what he was.Six years of friendless persecution, of life ungraced and uncheered bydomestic love, of such bitter misery as childhood alone is capable offeeling or enduring, transformed him from a child into a heartless,vindictive man.

  And then, the French schoolmaster having roughly finished the piece ofgoods, it was sent to Rome to be polished and turned out ready for themarket. Here I must leave him; I don't know the process. I have seen thearticle when finished, and am familiar with it. I know the trade mark onit as well as I know the Tower mark on my rifle. I may predicate of aglass that it is Bohemian ruby, and yet not know how they gave it thecolour. I must leave descriptions of that system to Mr. Steinmetz, andmen who have been behind the scenes.

  The red-hot ultramontane thorough-going Catholicism of that prettypervert, Lady Alicia, was but ill satisfied with the sensible, oldEnglish, cut and dried notions of the good Father Clifford. A comparisonof notes with two or three other great ladies, brought about aconsultation, and a letter to Rome, the result of which was that a youngEnglishman of presentable exterior, polite manners, talking English witha slight foreign accent, made his appearance at Ravenshoe, and wasinstalled as her ladyship's confessor, about eighteen months before herdeath.

  His talents were by no means ordinary. In very few days he had gaugedevery intellect in the house, and found that he was by far the superiorof all in wit and education; and he determined that as long as he stayedin the house he would be master there.

  Densil's jealous temper sadly interfered with this excellent resolution;he was immensely angry and rebellious at the slightest apparentinfringement of his prerogative, and after his parents' death treatedMackworth in such an exceedingly cavalier manner, that the latter fearedhe should have to move, till chance threw into his hand a whip wherewithhe might drive Densil where he would. He discovered a scandalous liaisonof poor Densil's, and in an indirect manner let him know that he knewall about it. This served to cement his influence until the appearanceof Mrs. Ravenshoe the second, who, as we have seen, treated him withsuch ill-disguised contempt, that he was anything but comfortable, andwas even meditating a retreat to Rome, when the conversation heoverheard in the drawing-room made him pause, and the birth of the boyCuthbert confirmed his resolution to stay.

  For now, indeed, there was a prospect open to him. Here was this childdelivered over to him like clay to a potter, that he might form it as hewould. It should go hard but that the revenues and county influence ofthe Ravenshoes should tend to the glory of the Church as heretofore.Only one person was in his way, and that was Mrs. Ravenshoe; after herdeath he was master of the situation with regard to the eldest of theboys. He had partly guessed, ever since he overheard the conversationof Densil and his wife, that some sort of bargain existed between themabout the second child; but he paid little heed to it. It was,therefore, with the bitterest anger that he saw his fears confirmed, andDensil angrily obstinate on the matter; for supposing Cuthbert were todie, all his trouble and anxiety would avail nothing, and the old houseand lands would fall to a Protestant heir, the first time in the historyof the island. Father Clifford consoled him.

  Meanwhile, his behaviour towards Densil was gradually and insensiblyaltered. He became the free and easy man of the world, the amusingcompanion, the wise counsellor. He saw that Densil was of a nature tolean on some one, and he was determined it should be on him; so he madehimself necessary. But he did more than this; he determined he would bebeloved as well as respected, and with a happy audacity he set to workto win that poor wild foolish heart to himself, using such arts ofpleasing as must have been furnished by his own mother wit, and couldnever have been learned in a hundred years from a Jesuit college. Thepoor heart was not a hard one to win; and, the day they buried poorFather Clifford in the mausoleum, it was with a mixture of pride at hisown talents, and contemptuous pity for his dupe, that Mackworth listenedto Densil as he told him that he was now his only friend, and besoughthim not to leave him--which thing Mackworth promised, with the deepestsincerity, he would not do.