Books: Our Friend the Charlatan

G >> George Gissing >> Our Friend the Charlatan

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30

"That's what I'm a little doubtful about," said Lady Ogram. "I have
been thinking it might help us if a real live lord casually walked
about Hollingford with our candidate. We have to use means, you
know."

The old lady grimaced her scorn, and the leader of Society smiled.
One thing Mrs. Toplady had learnt which interested her, that her
autocratic friend's faith in Dyce Lashmar as a "coming man" was
unaffected and sturdy. She mused upon this. Rivenoak had often
supplied entertainment to her sportive mind; now, as shadows of
night were gathering over it, there seemed to be preparing in this
corner of the human stage a spectacle of unforeseen piquancy.

Also with Mr. Kerchever the old lady had had an afternoon's talk.
Her emotion being now more under command, she could listen to the
solicitor's advice, which dissuaded from abrupt action with
reference to Miss Tomalin. Mr. Kerchever thought it would be unwise
to reveal all the interest she felt in this late-discovered
representative of her family. Had he not better write to Mr. Rooke,
saying that his client, a widowed lady living at her country house,
hoped to have the pleasure of making her young relative's
acquaintance, and would shortly address a letter to Miss Tomalin?
This course finally met with Lady Ogram's approval; she agreed to
let a week pass before taking the next step.

Whatever the ultimate effect of her joyous agitation, for the
present it seemed to do her nothing but good. She walked with
lighter step, bore herself as though she had thrown off years, and,
all through the evening, was a marvel of untiring graciousness and
cordiality. The reaction came when she found herself at liberty to
feel weary, but no eye save that of the confidential maid beheld her
collapse. Even whilst being undressed like a helpless infant, the
old lady did not lose her temper. Even whilst gulping an unpleasant
draught, well aware that she was not likely to sleep until dawn, if
then, she smiled at her thoughts. The maid wondered what it all
meant.

Dyce Lashmar was abundantly satisfied with himself. "Am I doing it
well?" he quietly asked of Constance, somewhere about ten o'clock,
and on receiving the reply, "Very well," he gave his friend a more
benignant smile than he had bestowed upon her since the old days of
semi-sentimental intimacy. He would much have liked to talk over the
evening with her before he went to bed; as that was impossible, he
pressed her hand very warmly at leave-taking, looking her steadily
in the eyes, and said in a low voice.

"To-morrow."

He was greatly satisfied with himself, and, in consequence, felt
overflowing with kindliness towards all the sons and daughters of
men. One by one he reviewed the persons with whom he had conversed.
How pleasant they were! How sensible and well-meaning! What
excellent material for the formation of a really civilised State?
They had evidently been impressed with him, and, on going home,
would make him the subject of their talk. To-morrow his name would
sound frequently in several houses, always with complimentary
adjunct. The thought made his pulses throb. To be talked of, to be
admired, was the strongest incentive known to him.

Of Lady Ogram he thought with positive affection; to the end of his
life he would revere her memory. Constance Bride he esteemed as a
loyal friend; never would he fail in gratitude to her; she should
have his confidence, and he would often seek her counsel; a good,
able girl of the best modern type. Last of all there came into his
mind the visage of a small, impulsive woman, with freckled oval
face, and hair the colour of an autumn elm-leaf, Iris Woolstan; to
her, too, how much he was beholden. Good, foolish, fidgetty Iris
Woolstan! Never again could he be impatient with her. Of course he
must pay back her money as soon as possible. Brave little creature,
light-heartedly sending him her cheque for three hundred pounds;
why, there was something heroic in it. Yes, he acknowledged himself
lucky in his woman friends; few men could be so fortunate. To be
sure, it was the result of his rational views, of his
straightforward, honest method. He saw his way to do noble service
in the cause of womanhood, and that by following the path of mere
common sense--all sentimental and so-called chivalrous humbug cast
aside, all exaggerated new conceptions simply disregarded. His bosom
swelled with glorious faith in his own future and in that of the
world.

Among the guests had figured Mr. Breakspeare, looking a trifle
fresher than usual in his clean linen and ceremonial black. Hearing
that Lashmar was to spend a couple of days more at Rivenoak, he
asked him to dine on the following evening, Lady Ogram readily
permitting the invitation.

"I say dine; sup would be the better word, for I can offer you only
simple entertainment. We shall be alone; I want the full advantage
of your talk. Afterwards, if you approve, we will look in upon an
old friend of mine who would have great satisfaction in exchanging
ideas with you. Something of an original; at all events you will
find him amusing."

To this relaxation Dyce looked forward with pleasure. Nearly the
whole of the next day he spent in solitude; for Lady Ogram did not
appear until the afternoon, and then only for an hour. Mrs. Toplady
took her leave before mid-day. Miss Bride showed herself only at
breakfast and luncheon, when she was friendly, indeed, but not much
disposed for talk. Dyce had anticipated a growth of intimacy with
Constance; be was prepared for long, confidential gossip in the
library or the garden; but his friend briefly excused herself. She
had a lot of reading and extracting to do.

"You have told me very little about yourself," he remarked, when she
rose to withdraw after luncheon.

"What's there to tell?"

"It would interest me to know more of your own thoughts--apart
from the work you are engaged in."

"Oh, those are strictly for home consumption," said Constance with a
smile; and went her way.

So Dyce paced the garden by himself, or read newspapers and reviews,
or lolled indolently in super-comfortable chairs. He had promised to
write to Mrs. Woolstan, and in the morning said to himself that he
would do so in the afternoon; but he disliked letter-writing, shrank
at all times, indeed, from use of the pen, and ultimately the duty
was postponed till to-morrow. His exertions of the evening before
had left a sense of fatigue; it was enough to savour the
recollection of triumph. He mused a little, from time to time, on
Constance, whose behaviour slightly piqued his curiosity. That she
was much occupied with the thought of him, he never doubted, but he
could not feel quite sure of the colour of her reflections--a
vexatious incertitude. He lazily resolved to bring her to clearer
avowal before quitting Rivenoak.

At evening, the coachman drove him to Hollingford, where he alighted
at Mr. Breakspeare's newspaper office. The editor received him in a
large, ill-kept, barely furnished room, the floor littered with
journals.

"How will that do, Mr. Lashmar?" was his greeting, as he held out a
printed slip.

Dyce perused a leading article, which, without naming him, contained
a very flattering sketch of his intellectual personality. So, at
least, he understood the article, ostensibly a summing of the
qualifications which should be possessed by an ideal Liberal
candidate. Large culture, a philosophical grasp of the world's
history, a scientific conception of human life; again, thorough
familiarity with the questions of the day, a mind no less acute in
the judgment of detail than broad in its vision of principles:
moreover, genuine sympathy with the aspirations of the average man,
yet no bias to sentimental weakness; with all this, the heaven-sent
gift of leadership, power of speech, calm and justified
self-confidence. Lashmar's face beamed as he recognised each trait.
Breakspeare, the while, regarded him with half-closed eyes in which
twinkled a world of humour.

"A little too generous, I'm afraid," Dyce remarked at length,
thoughtfully.

"Not a bit of it!" cried the editor, scratching the tip of his nose,
where he had somehow caught a spot of ink. "Bald facts; honest
portraiture. It doesn't displease you?"

"How could it? I only hope I may be recognised by such of your
readers as have met me."

"You certainly will be. I shall follow this up with a portrait of
the least acceptable type of Conservative candidate, wherein all
will recognise our Parliamentary incubus. Thus do we open the great
campaign! If you would care to, pray keep that proof; some day it
may amuse you to look at it, and to recall these early days of our
acquaintance. Now I will take you to my house, which, I need not
say, you honour by this visit. You are a philosopher, and simplicity
will not offend you."

They walked along one or two main streets, the journalist, still
ink-spotted on the nose, nodding now and then to an acquaintance,
and turned at length into a by-way of dwelling-houses, which did
not, indeed, suggest opulence, but were roomy and decent. At one of
the doors, Breakspeare paused, turned the handle, and ushered in his
guest.

Almost immediately, Dyce was presented to his hostess, on whose thin
but pleasant face he perceived with satisfaction a reverential
interest. Mrs. Breakspeare had few words at her command, and was
evidently accustomed to be disregarded; she knew that her husband
admired intellectual women, and that he often privately lamented his
mistake in marriage; but none the less was she aware that he enjoyed
the comfort of his home--to her a sufficient recompense. Like many
a man, Breakspeare would have been quite satisfied with his wife,
if, at the same time, he could have had another. He heartily
approved the domestic virtues; it would have exasperated him had the
mother of his children neglected home duties for any intellectual
pursuit; yet, as often as he thought of Miss Bride, contemptuous
impatience disturbed his tranquillity. He desired to unite
irreconcilable things. His practical safeguard was the humour which,
after all, never allowed him to take life too seriously.

A boy of sixteen, the eldest of seven children, sat down to table
with them. Breakspeare made a slight apology for his presence,
adding genially: "_Meminisse juvabit_." The meal was more than
tolerable; the guest thoroughly enjoyed himself, talking with as
little affectation as his nature permitted, and, with a sense of his
own graciousness, often addressing to Mrs. Breakspeare a remark on
the level of her intelligence.

"When you come down to Hollingford," said the journalist, "I suppose
you will generally stay at Lady Ogram's?"

"Possibly," was the reply. "But I think I had better decide which is
to be my hotel, when I have need of one. Will you advise me in that
matter?"

Breakspeare recommended the house which Lashmar already knew, and
added hints concerning the political colour of leading trades-folk.
When they rose, the host reminded Dyce of his suggestion that they
should go and see an old friend of his, one Martin Blaydes.

"We shall find him smoking his pipe, with a jug of beer at his
elbow. Martin is homely, but a man of original ideas, and he will
appreciate your visit."

So they set forth, and walked for a quarter of an hour towards the
outskirts of the town. Mr. Blaydes, who held a small municipal
office, lived alone in a very modest dwelling, his attendant a woman
of discreet years. As Breakspeare had foretold, he was found sitting
by the fireside the evening was cool enough to make a fire agreeable
a churchwarden between his lips, and a brown jug of generous
capacity on the table beside him. As the door opened, he turned a
meditative head, and blinked myopically at his visitors before
rising. His movements were very deliberate; his smile, which had the
odd effect of elevating one eyebrow and depressing the other, made
him look as if he were about to sneeze. Not without ceremony,
Breakspeare presented his companion, whom the old man (his years
touched on seventy) greeted in the words of Belshazzar to Daniel:

"I have heard of thee, that the spirit of the gods is in thee, and
that light and wisdom and excellent understanding are found in
thee.--Be seated, Mr. Lashmar, be seated. Friend Breakspeare, put your
toes on the fender. Mr. Lashmar, my drink is ale; an honest tap
which I have drunk for some three score years, and which never did
me harm. Will you join me?"

"With pleasure, Mr. Blaydes."

A touch upon the bell summoned the serving woman.

"Mrs. Ricketts, another jug of the right amber, and two beakers. I
know not if you smoke, Mr. Lashmar?--Why, that's right. Two yards
of Broseley also, Mrs. Ricketts."

Breakspeare had produced his pouch, which he opened and held to
Martin.

"Here's a new mixture, my own blending, which I should like you to
try. I see your pipe is empty."

"Gramercy," replied the other, with a wave of the hand. "I stick to
my own mundungus; any novelty disturbs my thoughts. Offer it to Mr.
Lashmar, who might find this weed of mine a trifle rank.--Here
comes the jug. What say you to that for a head, Mr. Lashmar? A new
nine-gallon, tapped before breakfast this morning, now running clear
and cool as a mountain burn. What would life be without this?
Elsewhere our ale degenerates; not many honest brewers are left.
Druggist's wine and the fire of the distilleries will wreck our
people. Whenever you have a chance, Mr. Lashmar, speak a word for
honest ale. Time enough is wasted at Westminster; they may well
listen to a plea for the source of all right-feeling and
right-thinking--amber ale."

Dyce soon understood that here, at all events, he was not called
upon for eloquence, or disquisition. Martin Blaydes had become
rather dull of car, and found it convenient to do most of the
talking himself. Now and then he turned his sneeze-menacing smile
this way or that, and a remark always claimed his courteous
attention, but in general his eyes were fixed on the glow of the
fireplace, 'whilst he pursued a humorous ramble from thought to
thought, topic to topic. Evidently of local politics he knew nothing
and recked not at all; he seemed to take for granted that Lashmar
was about to sit in Parliament for Hollingford, and that the young
man represented lofty principles rarely combined with public
ambition.

"You may do something; I don't know, I don't know. Things are bad, I
fear, and likely to be worse. We had hopes, Mr. Lashmar, when the
world and I were young. In those days there was such a thing as zeal
for progress and progress didn't necessarily mean money. You know my
view of the matter, friend Breakspeare. Two causes explain the pass
we've come to--the power of women and the tyranny of finance. How
does that touch you, Mr. Lashmar?"

"Finance yes," Dyce replied. "It's the curse of the modern world.
But women?"

"Yes, yes, the 'monstrous regiment of women,' as the old writer hath
it. Look at the diseases from which we are suffering--materialism
and hysteria. The one has been intensified and extended, the other
has newly declared itself, since women came to the front. No
materialist like a woman; give her a voice in the control of things,
and good-bye to all our ideals. Hard cash, military glory,
glittering and clanging triumph--these be the gods of a woman's
heart. Thought and talk drowned by a scream; nerves worried into
fiddlestrings. We had our vain illusion; we were generous in our
manly way. Open the door! Let the women come forth and breathe fresh
air! Justice for wives, an open field for those who will not or
cannot wed! We meant well, but it was a letting out of the waters.
There's your idle lady with the pretty face, who wants to make laws
for the amusement of breaking them. 'As a jewel of gold in a swine's
snout, so is a fair woman without discretion.' There's your
hard-featured woman who thinks that nobody in the world but she has
brains. And our homes are tumbling about our heads, because there's
no one to look after them. 'One man among a thousand have I found,
but a woman among all those have I not found.' Back with them to
nursery and kitchen, pantry and herb-garden! Back with them, or we
perish."

Dyce wore a broad smile. He knew that he himself would have spoken
thus had he not been committed to another way of talking.
Breakspeare, too, smiled, but with only half-assent; he reserved his
bigamous alternative. Martin Blaydes took a long draught from his
beaker, puffed half-a-dozen rings of smoke, and pursued his diatribe
in the same good-natured growl.

"The fury to get rich--who is so responsible for it as the crowd
of indolent, luxurious and vain women? The frenzy to become
notorious--almost entirely women's work. The spirit of reckless
ambition in public life encouraged by the sex which has never known
the meaning of responsibility. Decay of the arts--inevitable
result of the predominance of little fools who never admired
anything but art in millinery. Revival of delight in manslaying--
what woman could ever resist a uniform? Let them be; let them be.
Why should they spoil our ale and tobacco? Friend Breakspeare, how's
your wife? Now there, Mr. Lashmar, there is a woman such as I
honour! 'She will do him good and not evil all the days of her
life.' A woman of the by-gone day--gentle but strong, silent and
wise. 'Give her of the fruit of her hands, and let her own works
praise her in the gates!' Mr. Lashmar, your beaker stands empty. So,
by the bye, does the jug. Mrs. Ricketts!"

The little room contained many books, mostly old and such as had
seen long service. As his habit was when a friend sat with him, Mr.
Blaydes presently reached down a volume, and, on opening it, became
aware of a passage which sent him into crowing laughter.

"Ha, ha, friend Breakspeare, here's something for thee! Thou art the
Sophist of our time, and list how the old wise man spoke of thy
kind. 'They do but teach the collective opinion of the many; 'tis
their wisdom, forsooth. I might liken them to a man who should study
the temper or the desires of a great strong beast, which he has to
keep and feed; he learns how to approach and handle the creature,
also at what times and from what cause it is dangerous, or the
reverse; what is the meaning of its several cries, and by what
sounds it may be soothed or infuriated. Furthermore, when, by
constantly living with the huge brute, he has become perfect in all
this, he calls it philosophy, and makes a system or art of it, which
forthwith he professes. One thing he names honourable, another base;
this good, that evil; this just, that unjust; all in accordance with
the tastes and words of the great animal, which he has studied from
its grunts and snarls.'--Ha, ha, friend Breakspeare! Does it touch
thee? 'Comes it not something near?'--Nay, nay, take it not in
dudgeon! 'Tis old Plato who speaks."

"What, I?" cried the journalist, gaily. "I'm infinitely obliged to
you. The passage shall do me yeoman's service--turned against the
enemy. For it is not I who speak for the many at Hollingford, as
well you know. We Liberals are the select, the chosen spirits. The
mighty brute is Toryism."

Only the fear of reaching Rivenoak at too late an hour constrained
Lashmar to rise at length and take his leave.

"I hope you will let me come and see you again, Mr. Blaydes," he
exclaimed heartily, as he grasped the old man's hand.

"Here you will commonly find me, Mr. Lashmar, after eight o'clock,
and if you bear with my whimsies I shall thank you for your company.
This ale, I try to believe, will last my time. If a company corrupt
it, I forswear all fermented liquor, and go to the grave on mere
element--'honest water which ne'er left man in the mire.' But I
hope better things--I hops better things."

"And what do you think of Martin?" asked the journalist, as he and
Lashmar walked to the nearest place where a vehicle could be
obtained for the drive to Rivenoak.

"A fine old cynic!" answered Dyce. "I hope often to drink ale with
him."

"Luckily, it doesn't compromise you. Martin belongs to no party, and
gives no vote. I could tell you a good story about his reception of
a canvasser--a lady, by Jove!--at the last election; but I'll
keep it till we meet again, as you are in a hurry. You have put me
in spirits, Mr. Lashmar; may it not be long before I next talk with
you. Meanwhile, I dig the trenches!"

Ale and strong tobacco, to both of which he was unaccustomed,
wrought confusingly upon Dyce's brain as he was borne through the
night. He found himself murmuring the name of Constance, and forming
a resolve to win her to intimacy on the morrow. Yes, he liked
Constance. after all. Then came a memory of Martin Blaydes's
diatribe, and he laughed approvingly. But Constance was an
exception, the best type of modern woman. After all, he liked her.

Again they two breakfasted together. Dyce gave a mirthful
description of his evening, and gaily reported Mr. Blaydes's
eloquence on the subject of woman.

"On the whole, I agree with him," said Constance. "And I know, of
course, that you do."

"Indeed? You agree with him?"

"So does every sensible person. But the subject doesn't interest me.
I hate talk about _women_. We've had enough of it: it has become a
nuisance--a cant, like any other. A woman is a human being, not a
separate species."

"Why, of course!" cried Lashmar. "Just what I am always saying."

"Say it no more," interrupted his companion. "There are plenty of
other things to talk about."

Whereupon, she finished her cup of coffee, nodded a leave-taking,
and went at a brisk pace from the room. Dyce continued his meal,
meditative, a trifle wounded in self-esteem.

Later in the morning, he saw Constance wheeling forth her bicycle.
He ran, and gained her side before she had mounted.

"As you are going out, why shouldn't we have a walk together? Give
up your ride this morning."

"I'm very sorry I can't," Constance answered, pleasantly. "The
exercise is necessary for me."

"But just this once--"

"Impossible! The morning is too fine and the roads too good."

She sprang into the saddle, and was off--much to Dyce's
mortification. He had not dreamt that she could refuse his request.
And he had meant to talk with such generous confidence, such true
comradeship; it was even his intention to tell Constance that he
looked more for her sympathy and aid than for that of anyone else.
Surely this would have been very gratifying to her; she could not
but have thanked him with real feeling.

At luncheon, Miss Bride was obviously unrepentant. One would have
said that it amused her to notice the slight coldness 'which Lashmar
put into his manner towards her. She had never seemed in better
spirits.

In the afternoon Dyce was summoned to a private interview with Lady
Ogram. It took place in an upstairs room he had not yet entered. His
hostess sat before a wood-fire (though the day was warm) and her
face now and then had a look of suffering, but she spoke cheerfully,
and in a tone of much kindness.

"Well, have you enjoyed your stay with me?--You must come down
again presently; but, in the meantime, you'll be busy. Go and see
Mrs. Toplady, and get to know all the useful people you can. We
shall be working here for you, of course. Miss Bride will keep you
posted about everything."

The dark eyes, at this moment pain-troubled, were reading his
countenance.

"I needn't tell you," Lady Ogram continued, "that Miss Bride has my
entire and perfect confidence. I don't think I'm easily deceived in
people, and--even before she spoke to me of you--I had made up
my mind that' in some way or other, she must be given a chance of
doing something in life. You know all about her ways of thinking--
perhaps better than I do."

In the pause which followed, Dyce was on the point of disclaiming
this intimacy; but the drift of Lady Ogram's talk, exciting his
curiosity, prevailed to keep him silent. He bent his look and smiled
modestly.

"She's one of the few women," went on his friend, "who do more than
they promise. She'll never be what is called brilliant. She won't
make much of a figure in the drawing-room. But, give her a chance,
and she'll do things that people will talk about. She has powers of
organising; I don't know whether you understand how well she is
getting to be known by serious workers in the social reform way.
There's not one of them can write such good letters--tell so much
in few words. But we must give her a chance--you and I together."

Dyce was startled. His smile died away, and, involuntarily, he
turned a look of surprise on the speaker.

"You mean," said Lady Ogram, as though answering s remonstrance,
"that you know all about that without my telling you. Don't be
touchy; you and I can understand each other well enough, if we like.
What I want to let yon know is, that I consider she has a claim upon
me. Not in the ordinary sense. Perhaps I'm not quite an ordinary
woman, and I see things in a way of my own. She has a claim upon me,
because she's one of the few women who have nothing of the baby or
the idiot in them, and I've been looking out for that sort all my
life. If Constance Bride"--the voice became slower, as if for
emphasis--"is put into a position of trust, she'll do all that is
expected of her. There's no particular hurry; she's young enough
still. And as for you, you've got your hands full."

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30