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CHAPTER XLIV. THE CHURCH PATRONS

As the season drew to its close at Albano, and the period of returning to Rome approached, the church committee, following the precedent of all previous years, fell out, and held a succession of vestry-meetings for mutual abuse and recrimination. Partisanship is the badge of church patrons; and while the parson had his adherents, and the organist his supporters, there were half a dozen very warm friends who advocated the cause of the bell-ringer, – a drunken little heathen, who, because he had never crossed the threshold of a Catholic church for years, was given brevet rank as a member of the Reformed religion.

The time of auditing the church accounts is usually a sort of day of judgment on the clergyman. All the complaints that can be preferred against him are kept for that occasion. A laudable sentiment possibly prompts men to ascertain what they have got for their money; at all events, people in no wise remarkable for personal thrift show at such times a most searching spirit of inquiry, and eagerly investigate the cost of sweeping out the vestry and clearstarching the chaplain’s bands.

As to the doctrine of the parson, and the value of his ministration, there were a variety of opinions. He was too high for this one, too dry for that; he was not impressive, not solemn nor dignified with some, while others deemed him deficient in that winning familiarity which is so soothing to certain sinners. Some thought his sermons too high-flown and too learned, others asked why he only preached to the children in the gallery. On one only point was there anything like unanimity: each man who withdrew his subscription did so on principle. None – not one – referred his determination to contribute no longer to any motive of economy. All declared that it was something in the celebration of the service – a doctrine inculcated in the pulpit – something the parson had said, or something he had worn – obliged them, “with infinite regret,” to withdraw what they invariably called “their mite.” In fact, one thing was clear: a more high-minded, right-judging, scrupulous body of people could not be found than the congregation, whatever might be said or thought of him whose duty it was to guide them.

Lady Augusta Bramleigh had gone off to Rome, and a small three-cornered note, highly perfumed, and most nervously written, informed the committee that she was quite ready to continue her former subscription, or more, if required; that she was charmed with the chaplain, pleased with the choir, and generally delighted with every one, – a testimony more delicately valuable from the fact that she had been but once to the church during the entire season.

Sir Marcus Cluff, after reading out the letter, took occasion to observe on the ventilation of the church, which was defective in many respects. There was a man in King Street – he thought his name was Harmond, or something like Harmond, but it might be Fox – who had invented a self-revolving pane for church windows. It was perfectly noiseless, and the cost a mere trifle, though it required to be adjusted by one of the patentee’s own people; some mistakes having occurred by blundering adaptation, by which two persons had been asphyxiated at Redhill.

The orator was here interrupted by Mrs. Trumpler, who stoutly affirmed that she had come there that day at great inconvenience, and was in no wise prepared to listen to a discourse upon draughts, or the rival merits of certain plumbers. There were higher considerations than these that might occupy them, and she wished to know if Mr. L’Estrange was prepared to maintain the harsh, and she must say the ungenerous and unscholarlike, view he had taken of the character of Judas. If so, she withdrew her subscription, but added that she would also in a pamphlet explain to the world the reasons of her retirement, as well as the other grounds of complaint she had against the chaplain.

One humble contributor of fifteen francs alleged that, though nutcrackers were a useful domestic implement, they formed an unpleasant accompaniment to the hymns, and occasionally startled devotionally minded persons during the service; and he added his profound regret at the seeming apathy of the clergyman to the indecent interruption; indeed, he had seen the parson sitting in the reading-desk, while these disturbances continued, to all appearance unmoved and indifferent.

A retired victualler, Mr. Mowser, protested that to see the walk of the clergyman, as he came up the aisle, “was enough for him;” and he had only come to the meeting to declare that he himself had gone over to the sect of the Nuremberg Christians, who, at least, were humble-minded and lowly, and who thought their pastor handsomely provided for with a thousand francs a year, and a suit of black clothes at Christmas.

In a word, there was much discontent abroad, and a very general opinion seemed to prevail that, what with the increasing dearness of butchers’ meat, and an extra penny lately added to the income-tax, it behoved every one to see what wise and safe economy could be introduced into their affairs. It is needless to say how naturally it suggested itself to each that the church subscription was a retrenchment at once practicable and endurable.

Any one who wishes to convince himself how dear to the Protestant heart is the right of private judgment, has only to attend a vestry-meeting of a church supported on the voluntary system. It is the very grandest assertion of that great principle. There is not a man there represented by ten francs annual subscription who has not very decided opinions of the doctrine he requires for his money; and thus, while no one agreed with his neighbor, all concurred in voting that they deemed the chaplain had not fulfilled their expectations, and that they reserved their right to contribute or not for the ensuing year, as future thought and consideration should determine.

L’Estrange had gone into Rome to meet Augustus Bramleigh and Ellen, who were coming to pass the Christmas with him, when Sir Marcus Cluff called to announce this unpleasant resolution of the Church patrons.

“Perhaps I could see Miss L’Estrange?” said he to the servant, who had said her master was from home.

Julia was seated working at the window as Sir Marcus entered the room.

“I hope I do not come at an unseemly hour; I scarcely know the time one ought to visit here,” he began, as he fumbled to untie the strings of his respirator. “How nice and warm your room is; and a south aspect, too. Ah! that’s what my house fails in.”

“I ‘m so sorry my brother is not at home, Sir Marcus. He will regret not meeting you.”

“And I ‘m sorry, too. I could have broken the bad news to him, perhaps, better than – I mean – oh, dear! if I begin coughing, I shall never cease. Would you mind my taking my drops? They are only aconite and lettuce; and if I might ask for a little fresh water. I ‘m so sorry to be troublesome.”

Though all anxiety to know to what bad news he referred, she hastened to order the glass of water he desired, and calmly resumed her seat.

“It ‘s spasmodic, – this cough. I don’t know if that be any advantage, or the reverse; but the doctor says ‘only spasmodic,’ which would lead one to suppose it might be worse. Would you do me the great favor to drop thirty-five – be sure only thirty-five – of these? I hope your hand does not shake?”

“No, Sir Marcus. It is very steady.”

“What a pretty hand it is! How taper your fingers are; but you have these dimples at the knuckles they say are such signs of cruelty.”

“Oh, Sir Marcus!”

“Yes, they say so. Nana Sahib had them, and that woman – there, there, you have given me thirty-seven.”

“No, I assure you, Sir Marcus, only thirty-five. I’m a practised hand at dropping medicine. My brother used to have violent headaches.”

“And you always measured his drops, did you?”

“Always. I ‘m quite a clever nurse, I assure you.”

“Oh, dear! do you say so?” And as he laid down his glass he looked at her with an expression of interest and admiration, which pushed her gravity to its last limit.

“I don’t believe a word about the cruelty they ascribe to those dimples. I pledge you my word of honor I do not,” said he, seriously.

“I ‘m sincerely glad to hear you say so,” said she, trying to seem grave.

“And is your brother much of an invalid?”

“Not now. The damp climate of Ireland gave him headaches; but he rarely has them here.”

“Ah, and you have such a quiet way of moving about; that gentle gliding step, so soothing to the sick. Oh, you don’t know what a boon it is; and the common people never have it, nor can they acquire it. When you went to ring the bell, I said to myself, ‘That ‘s it, – that’s what all the teaching in the world cannot impart.’”

“You will make me very vain, Sir Marcus. All the more that you give me credit for merits I never suspected.”

“Have you a cold hand?” asked he, with a look of eagerness.

“I really don’t know. Perhaps I have.”

“If I might dare. Ah,” said he, with much feeling, as he touched her hand in the most gentle manner – “ah! that is the greatest gift of nature A small hand, perfect in form, beautiful in color, and cold as marble.”

Julia could resist no longer, but laughed out one of those pleasant merry laughs whose music make an echo in the heart.

“I know well enough what you are saying to yourself. I think I hear you muttering, ‘What an original, what a strange creature it is;’ and so I am, I won’t deny it. One who has been an invalid for eighteen years; eighteen years passed in the hard struggle with an indolent alimentary system, for they say it ‘s no more. There ‘s nothing organic; nothing whatever. Structurally, said Dr. Boreas of Leamington, structurally you are as sound as a roach. I don’t fully appreciate the comparison; but I take it the roach must be a very healthy fish. Oh, here’s your brother coming across the garden. I wish he had not come just yet; I had a – no matter, perhaps you ‘d permit me to have a few words with you to-morrow?”

“To-morrow, or whenever you like, Sir Marcus; but pray forgive me if I run away now to ask my brother if our visitors have come.”

“They ‘ll be here to-morrow evening, Ju,” said George, as she rushed to meet him. “Is that Guff’s phaeton I see at the gate?”

“Yes; the tiresome creature has been here the last hour. I ‘ll not go back to him. You must take your share now.”

By the time L’Estrange entered the room, Sir Marcus had replaced his respirator, and enveloped himself in two of his overcoats and a fur boa. “Oh, here you are,” said he, speaking with much difficulty. “I can’t talk now; it brings on the cough. Come over in the evening, and I ‘ll tell you about it.”

“About what, pray?” asked the other, curtly.

“There ‘s no use being angry. It only hurries the respiration, and chokes the pulmonary vessels. They won’t give a sixpence – not one of them. They say that you don’t preach St. Paul – that you think too much about works. I don’t know what they don’t say; but come over about seven.”

“Do you mean that the subscribers have withdrawn from the church?”

Sir Marcus had not breath for further discussion, but made a gesture of assent with his head.

L’Estrange sank down on a chair overpowered, nor did he speak to, or notice, the other as he withdrew.

“Are you ill, dearest George?” said Julia, as she saw her brother pale and motionless on the chair. “Are you ill?”

“They’ve all withdrawn from the church, Julia. Guff says they are dissatisfied with me, and will contribute no longer.”

“I don’t believe it’s so bad as he says. I ‘m sure it’s not. They cannot be displeased with you, George. It’s some mere passing misconception. You know how they ‘re given to these little bickerings and squabbles; but they have ever been kind and friendly to you.”

“You always give me courage, Ju; and even when I have little heart for it, I like it.”

“Come in to dinner now, George; and if I don’t make you laugh, it’s a wonder to me. I have had such a scene with Sir Marcus as might have graced a comedy.”

It was not an easy task to rally her brother back to good spirits, but she did succeed at last “And now,” said she, as she saw him looking once more at ease and cheerful, “what news of the Bramleighs – are they ever to come?”

“They’ll be here to-morrow evening, Ju. Unless they were quite sure the Culduffs had left for Naples, they would not venture here; and perhaps they were so far in the right.”

“I don’t think so; at least, if I had been Nelly, I ‘d have given anything for such an opportunity of presenting myself to my distinguished relations, and terrifying them by the thought of those attentions that they can neither give me nor deny me.”

“No, no, Julia, nothing of the kind; there would be malice in that.”

“Do I deny it? A great deal of malice in it, and there’s no good comedy in life without a slight flavor of spitefulness. Oh, my poor dear George, what a deep sigh that was! How sad it is to think that all your example and all your precept do so little, and that your sister acquires nothing by your companionship except the skill to torment you.”

“But why will you say those things that you don’t mean – that you couldn’t feel?”

“I believe I do it, George, just the way a horse bounds and rears and buck-leaps. It does not help him on his road, but it lightens the journey; and then it offers such happy occasion for the exercise of that nice light hand of my brother to check these aberrations. You ought to be eternally grateful for the way I develop your talents as a moralist – I was going to say a horse-breaker.”

“I suppose,” said he, after a moment’s silence, “I ought to go over to Sir Marcus and learn from him exactly how matters stand here.”

“No, no; never mind him – at least, not this evening. Bores are bad enough in the morning, but after dinner, when one really wants to think well of their species, they are just intolerable; besides, I composed a little song while you were away, and I want you to hear it, and then you know we must have some serious conversation about Sir Marcus; he is to be here to-morrow.”

“I declare, Ju – ”

“There, don’t declare, but open the pianoforte, and light the candles; and as I mean to sing for an hour at least, you may have that cigar that you looked so lovingly at, and put back into the case. Ain’t I good for you, as the French say?”

“Very good, too good for me,” said he, kissing her, and now every trace of his sorrow was gone, and he looked as happy as might be.

CHAPTER XLV. A PLEASANT DINNER

Prudent people will knit their brows and wise people shake their heads at the bare mention of it, but I cannot help saying that there is a wonderful fascination in those little gatherings which bring a few old friends around the same board, who, forgetting all the little pinchings and straits of narrow fortune, give themselves up for once to enjoyment without a thought for the cost or a care for the morrow. I do not want this to pass for sound morality, nor for a discreet line of conduct; I only say that in the spirit that can subdue every sentiment that would jar on the happiness of the hour there is a strength and vitality that shows this feeling is not born of mere conviviality, but of something deeper, and truer, and heartier.

“If we only had poor Jack here,” whispered Augustus Bramleigh to L’Estrange, as they drew around the Christmas fire, “I ‘d say this was the happiest hearth I know of.”

“And have you no tidings of him?” said L’Estrange, in the same low tone; for, although the girls were in eager talk together, he was afraid Julia might overhear what was said.

“None, except that he sailed from China on board an American clipper for Smyrna, and I am now waiting for news from the consul there, to whom I have written, enclosing a letter for him.”

“And he is serving as a sailor?”

Bramleigh nodded.

“What is the mysterious conversation going on there?” said Julia. “How grave George looks, and Mr. Bramleigh seems overwhelmed with a secret of importance.”

“I guess it,” said Nelly, laughing. “Your brother is relating your interview with Sir Marcus Cluff, and they are speculating on what is to come of it.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” cried L’Estrange, suddenly, “Sir Marcus’s servant brought me a letter just as I was dressing for dinner. Here it is. What a splendid seal – supporters too! Have I permission to read?”

“Read, read by all means,” cried Julia.

“‘Dear Sir, – If I could have sufficiently conquered my bronchitis as to have ventured out this morning, I would have made you my personal apologies for not having received you last night when you did me the honor to call, as well as opened to you by word of mouth what I am now reduced to convey by pen.’”

“He is just as prolix as when he talks,” said Julia.

“It’s a large hand, however, and easy to read. ‘My old enemy the larynx – more in fault than even the bronchial tubes – is again in arms – ‘”

“Oh, do spare us his anatomical disquisition, George. Skip him down to where he proposes for me.”

“But it is what he does not. You are not mentioned in the whole of it. It is all about church matters. It is an explanation of why every one has withdrawn his subscription and left the establishment, and why he alone is faithful and willing to contribute, even to the extent of five pounds additional – ”

“This is too heartless by half; the man has treated me shamefully.”

“I protest I think so too,” said Nelly, with a mock seriousness; “he relies upon your brother’s gown for his protection.”

“Shall I have him out? But, by the way, why do you call me Mr. Bramleigh? Wasn’t I Augustus – or rather Gusty – when we met last?”

“I don’t think so; so well as I remember, I treated you with great respect dashed with a little bit of awe. You and your elder sister were always ‘personages’ to me.”

“I cannot understand that. I can easily imagine Temple inspiring that deference you speak of.”

“You were the true prince, however, and I had all Falstaff’s reverence for the true prince.”

“And yet you see after all I am like to turn out only a pretender.”

“By the way, the pretender is here; I mean – if it be not a bull to say it – the real pretender, Count Pracontal.”

“Count Pracontal de Bramleigh, George,” said Julia, correcting him. “It is the drollest mode of assuming a family name I ever heard of.”

“What is he like?” asked Ellen.

“Like a very well-bred Frenchman of the worst school of French manners: he has none of that graceful ease and that placid courtesy of the past period, but he has abundance of the volatile readiness and showy smartness of the present day. They are a wonderful race, however, and their smattering is better than other men’s learning.”

“I want to see him,” said Augustus.

“Well,” broke in L’Estrange, “Lady Augusta writes to me to say he wants to see you.”

“What does Lady Augusta know of him?”

“Heaven knows,” cried Julia; “but they are always together; their rides over the Campagna furnish just now the chief scandal of Rome. George, you may see, looks very serious and rebukeful about it; but, if the truth were told, there’s a little jealousy at the root of his morality.”

“I declare, Julia, this is too bad.”

“Too true, also, my dear George. Will you deny that you used to ride out with her nearly every evening in the summer, rides that began at sunset and ended – I was always asleep when you came home, and so I never knew when they ended.”

“Was she very agreeable?” asked Nelly, with the faintest tinge of sharpness in her manner.

“The most – what shall I call it? – inconsequent woman I ever met, mixing up things the most dissimilar together, and never dwelling for an instant on anything.”

“How base men are,” said Julia, with mock reproach in her voice. “This is the way he talks of a woman he absolutely persecuted with attentions the whole season. Would you believe it, Nelly, we cut up our nice little garden to make a school to train her horse in?”

Whether it was that some secret intelligence was rapidly conveyed from Julia as she spoke to Nelly, or that the latter of herself caught up the quizzing spirit of her attack, but the two girls burst out laughing, and George blushed deeply, in shame and irritation.

“First of all,” said he, stammering with confusion, “she had a little Arab, the wickedest animal I ever saw. It wasn’t safe to approach him; he struck out with his forelegs – ”

“Come, Nelly,” said Julia, rising, “we’ll go into the drawing-room, and leave George to explain how he tamed the Arab and captivated the Arab’s mistress, for your brother might like to learn the secret. You ‘ll join us, gentlemen, when you wish for coffee.”

“That was scarcely fair, Julia dear,” said Nelly, when they were alone. “Your banter is sometimes too sharp for him.”

“I can’t help it, dearest – it is a part of my nature. When I was a child, they could not take me to a wild-beast show, for I would insist on poking straws at the tiger – not that poor dear George has much ‘tiger’ in him. But do you know, Nelly,” said she, in a graver tone, “that when people are very poor, when their daily lives are beset by the small accidents of narrow fortune, there is a great philosophy in a little banter? You brush away many an annoyance by seeming to feel it matter for drollery, which, if taken seriously, might have made you fretful and peevish.”

“I never suspected there was method in your madness, Ju,” said Nelly, smiling.

“Nor was there, dearest; the explanation was almost an afterthought. But come now and tell me about yourselves.”

“There is really little to tell. Augustus never speaks to me now of business matters. I think I can see that he is not fully satisfied with himself; but, rather than show weakness or hesitation, he is determined to go on as he began.”

“And you are really going to this dreary place?”

“He says so.”

“Would any good come, I wonder, of bringing your brother and Pracontal together? They are both men of high and generous feelings. Each seems to think that there ought to be some other settlement than a recourse to lawyers. Do you think he would refuse to meet Pracontal?”

“That is a mere chance. There are days he would not listen to such a proposal, and there are times he would accept it heartily; but the suggestion must not come from me. With all his love for me, he rather thinks that I secretly disapprove of what he has done, and would reverse it if I knew how.”

“What if I were to hint at it? He already said he wished to see him. This might be mere curiosity, however. What if I were to say, ‘Why not meet Pracontal? Why not see what manner of man he is? There is nothing more true than the saying that half the dislikes people conceive against each other would give way if they would condescend to become acquainted.’”

“As I have just said, it is a mere chance whether he would consent, and then – ”

“Oh, I know! It would be also a chance what might come of it.”

Just as she said this, the young men entered the room, with smiling faces, and apparently in high good-humor.

“Do you know the plan we ‘ve just struck out?” cried Bramleigh. “George is to come and live at Cattaro. I ‘m to make him consular chaplain.”

“But is there such an appointment?” asked Julia, eagerly.

“Heaven knows; but if there is not, there ought to be.”

“And the salary, Mr. Bramleigh. Who pays it? What is it?”

“There again I am at fault; but her Majesty could never intend we should live like heathens,” said Augustus, “and we shall arrange it somehow.”

“Oh, if it were not for ‘somehow,’” said Julia, “we poor people would be worse off in life than we are; but there are so many what the watchmakers call escapements in existence, the machinery manages to survive scores of accidents.”

“At all events we shall be all together,” said Augustus, “and we shall show a stouter front to fortune than if we were to confront her singly.”

“I think it a delightful plan,” said Julia. “What says Nelly?”

“I think,” said Nelly, gravely, “that it is more than kind in you to follow us into our banishment.”

“Then let us set off at once,” said Augustus, “for I own to you I wish to be out of men’s sight, out of ear-shot of their comments, while this suit is going on. It is the publicity that I dread far more than even the issue. Once that we reach this wild barbarism we are going to, you will see I will bear myself with better spirits and better temper.”

“And will you not see Monsieur Pracontal before you go?” asked Julia.

“Not if I can avoid it; unless, indeed, you all think I ought.”

Julia looked at Nelly, and then at her brother. She looked as if she wanted them to say something – anything; but neither spoke, and then, with a courage that never failed her, she said, —

“Of course we think that a meeting between two people who have no personal reasons for dislike, but have a great question to be decided in favor of one of them, cannot but be useful. If it will not lead to a friendship, it may at least disarm a prejudice.”

“I wish I had you for my counsel, Julia,” said Bramleigh, smiling. “Is it yet too late to send you a brief?”

“Perhaps I am engaged for the other side.”

“At all events,” said he, more seriously, “if it be a blunder to meet the man, it cannot much matter. The question between us must be decided elsewhere, and we need not add the prejudices of ignorance to the rancor of self-interest. I ‘ll see him.”

“That’s right; I ‘m sure that’s right,” said L’Estrange. “I’ll despatch a note to Lady Augusta, who is eager for your answer.”