Chapter XL. National and Domestic

by Charles Dickens

　　England has been in a dreadful state for some weeks. Lord Coodlewould go out, Sir Thomas Doodle wouldn't come in, and there beingnobody in Great Britain (to speak of) except Coodle and Doodle,there has been no government. It is a mercy that the hostilemeeting between those two great men, which at one time seemedinevitable, did not come off, because if both pistols had takeneffect, and Coodle and Doodle had killed each other, it is to bepresumed that England must have waited to be governed until youngCoodle and young Doodle, now in frocks and long stockings, weregrown up. This stupendous national calamity, however, was avertedby Lord Coodle's making the timely discovery that if in the heat ofdebate he had said that he scorned and despised the whole ignoblecareer of Sir Thomas Doodle, he had merely meant to say that partydifferences should never induce him to withhold from it the tributeof his warmest admiration; while it as opportunely turned out, onthe other hand, that Sir Thomas Doodle had in his own bosomexpressly booked Lord Coodle to go down to posterity as the mirrorof virtue and honour. Still England has been some weeks in thedismal strait of having no pilot (as was well observed by SirLeicester Dedlock) to weather the storm; and the marvellous part ofthe matter is that England has not appeared to care very much aboutit, but has gone on eating and drinking and marrying and giving inmarriage as the old world did in the days before the flood. ButCoodle knew the danger, and Doodle knew the danger, and all theirfollowers and hangers-on had the clearest possible perception ofthe danger. At last Sir Thomas Doodle has not only condescended tocome in, but has done it handsomely, bringing in with him all hisnephews, all his male cousins, and all his brothers-in-law. Sothere is hope for the old ship yet.Doodle has found that he must throw himself upon the country,chiefly in the form of sovereigns and beer. In this metamorphosedstate he is available in a good many places simultaneously and canthrow himself upon a considerable portion of the country at onetime. Britannia being much occupied in pocketing Doodle in theform of sovereigns, and swallowing Doodle in the form of beer, andin swearing herself black in the face that she does neither--plainly to the advancement of her glory and morality--the Londonseason comes to a sudden end, through all the Doodleites andCoodleites dispersing to assist Britannia in those religiousexercises.Hence Mrs. Rouncewell, housekeeper at Chesney Wold, foresees,though no instructions have yet come down, that the family mayshortly be expected, together with a pretty large accession ofcousins and others who can in any way assist the greatConstitutional work. And hence the stately old dame, taking Timeby the forelock, leads him up and down the staircases, and alongthe galleries and passages, and through the rooms, to witnessbefore he grows any older that everything is ready, that floors arerubbed bright, carpets spread, curtains shaken out, beds puffed andpatted, still-room and kitchen cleared for action--all thingsprepared as beseems the Dedlock dignity.This present summer evening, as the sun goes down, the preparationsare complete. Dreary and solemn the old house looks, with so manyappliances of habitation and with no inhabitants except thepictured forms upon the walls. So did these come and go, a Dedlockin possession might have ruminated passing along; so did they seethis gallery hushed and quiet, as I see it now; so think, as Ithink, of the gap that they would make in this domain when theywere gone; so find it, as I find it, difficult to believe that itcould be without them; so pass from my world, as I pass fromtheirs, now closing the reverberating door; so leave no blank tomiss them, and so die.Through some of the fiery windows beautiful from without, and set,at this sunset hour, not in dull-grey stone but in a glorious houseof gold, the light excluded at other windows pours in rich, lavish,overflowing like the summer plenty in the land. Then do the frozenDedlocks thaw. Strange movements come upon their features as theshadows of leaves play there. A dense justice in a corner isbeguiled into a wink. A staring baronet, with a truncheon, gets adimple in his chin. Down into the bosom of a stony shepherdessthere steals a fleck of light and warmth that would have done itgood a hundred years ago. One ancestress of Volumnia, in high-heeled shoes, very like her--casting the shadow of that virginevent before her full two centuries--shoots out into a halo andbecomes a saint. A maid of honour of the court of Charles theSecond, with large round eyes (and other charms to correspond),seems to bathe in glowing water, and it ripples as it glows.But the fire of the sun is dying. Even now the floor is dusky, andshadow slowly mounts the walls, bringing the Dedlocks down like ageand death. And now, upon my Lady's picture over the great chimney-piece, a weird shade falls from some old tree, that turns it pale,and flutters it, and looks as if a great arm held a veil or hood,watching an opportunity to draw it over her. Higher and darkerrises shadow on the wall--now a red gloom on the ceiling--now thefire is out.All that prospect, which from the terrace looked so near, has movedsolemnly away and changed--not the first nor the last of beautifulthings that look so near and will so change--into a distantphantom. Light mists arise, and the dew falls, and all the sweetscents in the garden are heavv in the air. Now the woods settleinto great masses as if they were each one profound tree. And nowthe moon rises to separate them, and to glimmer here and there inhorizontal lines behind their stems, and to make the avenue apavement of light among high cathedral arches fantastically broken.Now the moon is high; and the great house, needing habitation morethan ever, is like a body without life. Now it is even awful,stealing through it, to think of the live people who have slept inthe solitary bedrooms, to say nothing of the dead. Now is the timefor shadow, when every corner is a cavern and every downward step apit, when the stained glass is reflected in pale and faded huesupon the floors, when anything and everything can be made of theheavy staircase beams excepting their own proper shapes, when thearmour has dull lights upon it not easily to be distinguished fromstealthy movement, and when barred helmets are frightfullysuggestive of heads inside. But of all the shadows in ChesneyWold, the shadow in the long drawing-room upon my Lady's picture isthe first to come, the last to be disturbed. At this hour and bythis light it changes into threatening hands raised up and menacingthe handsome face with every breath that stirs."She is not well, ma'am," says a groom in Mrs. Rouncewell'saudience-chamber."My Lady not well! What's the matter?""Why, my Lady has been but poorly, ma'am, since she was last here--I don't mean with the family, ma'am, but when she was here as abird of passage like. My Lady has not been out much for her andhas kept her room a good deal.""Chesney Wold, Thomas," rejoins the housekeeper with proudcomplacency, "will set my Lady up! There is no finer air and nohealthier soil in the world!"Thomas may have his own personal opinions on this subject, probablyhints them in his manner of smoothing his sleek head from the napeof his neck to his temples, but he forbears to express them furtherand retires to the servants' hall to regale on cold meat-pie andale.This groom is the pilot-fish before the nobler shark. Nextevening, down come Sir Leicester and my Lady with their largestretinue, and down come the cousins and others from all the pointsof the compass. Thenceforth for some weeks backward and forwardrush mysterious men with no names, who fly about all thoseparticular parts of the country on which Doodle is at presentthrowing himself in an auriferous and malty shower, but who aremerely persons of a restless disposition and never do anythinganywhere.On these national occasions Sir Leicester finds the cousins useful.A better man than the Honourable Bob Stables to meet the Hunt atdinner, there could not possibly be. Better got up gentlemen thanthe other cousins to ride over to polling-booths and hustings hereand there, and show themselves on the side of England, it would behard to find. Volumnia is a little dim, but she is of the truedescent; and there are many who appreciate her sprightlyconversation, her French conundrums so old as to have become in thecycles of time almost new again, the honour of taking the fairDedlock in to dinner, or even the privilege of her hand in thedance. On these national occasions dancing may be a patrioticservice, and Volumnia is constantly seen hopping about for the goodof an ungrateful and unpensioning country.My Lady takes no great pains to entertain the numerous guests, andbeing still unwell, rarely appears until late in the day. But atall the dismal dinners, leaden lunches, basilisk balls, and othermelancholy pageants, her mere appearance is a relief. As to SirLeicester, he conceives it utterly impossible that anything can bewanting, in any direction, by any one who has the good fortune tobe received under that roof; and in a state of sublimesatisfaction, he moves among the company, a magnificentrefrigerator.Daily the cousins trot through dust and canter over roadside turf,away to hustings and polling-booths (with leather gloves andhunting-whips for the counties and kid gloves and riding-canes forthe boroughs), and daily bring back reports on which Sir Leicesterholds forth after dinner. Daily the restless men who have nooccupation in life present the appearance of being rather busy.Daily Volumnia has a little cousinly talk with Sir Leicester on thestate of the nation, from which Sir Leicester is disposed toconclude that Volumnia is a more reflecting woman than he hadthought her."How are we getting on?" says Miss Volumnia, clasping her hands."Are we safe?"The mighty business is nearly over by this time, and Doodle willthrow himself off the country in a few days more. Sir Leicesterhas just appeared in the long drawing-room after dinner, a brightparticular star surrounded by clouds of cousins."Volumnia," replies Sir Leicester, who has a list in his hand, "weare doing tolerably.""Only tolerably!"Although it is summer weather, Sir Leicester always has his ownparticular fire in the evening. He takes his usual screened seatnear it and repeats with much firmness and a little displeasure, aswho should say, I am not a common man, and when I say tolerably, itmust not be understood as a common expression, "Volumnia, we aredoing tolerably.""At least there is no opposition to you," Volumnia asserts withconfidence."No, Volumnia. This distracted country has lost its senses in manyrespects, I grieve to say, but--""It is not so mad as that. I am glad to hear it!"Volumnia's finishing the sentence restores her to favour. SirLeicester, with a gracious inclination of his head, seems to say tohimself, "A sensible woman this, on the whole, though occasionallyprecipitate."In fact, as to this question of opposition, the fair Dedlock'sobservation was superfluous, Sir Leicester on these occasionsalways delivering in his own candidateship, as a kind of handsomewholesale order to be promptly executed. Two other little seatsthat belong to him he treats as retail orders of less importance,merely sending down the men and signifying to the tradespeople,"You will have the goodness to make these materials into twomembers of Parliament and to send them home when done.""I regret to say, Volumnia, that in many places the people haveshown a bad spirit, and that this opposition to the government hasbeen of a most determined and most implacable description.""W-r-retches!" says Volumnia."Even," proceeds Sir Leicester, glancing at the circumjacentcousins on sofas and ottomans, "even in many--in fact, in most--ofthose places in which the government has carried it against afaction--"(Note, by the way, that the Coodleites are always a faction withthe Doodleites, and that the Doodleites occupy exactly the sameposition towards the Coodleites.)"--Even in them I am shocked, for the credit of Englishmen, to beconstrained to inform you that the party has not triumphed withoutbeing put to an enormous expense. Hundreds," says Sir Leicester,eyeing the cousins with increasing dignity and swellingindignation, "hundreds of thousands of pounds!"If Volumnia have a fault, it is the fault of being a trifle tooinnocent, seeing that the innocence which would go extremely wellwith a sash and tucker is a little out of keeping with the rougeand pearl necklace. Howbeit, impelled by innocence, she asks,"What for?""Volumnia," remonstrates Sir Leicester with his utmost severity."Volumnia!""No, no, I don't mean what for," cries Volumnia with her favouritelittle scream. "How stupid I am! I mean what a pity!""I am glad," returns Sir Leicester, "that you do mean what a pity."Volumnia hastens to express her opinion that the shocking peopleought to be tried as traitors and made to support the party."I am glad, Volumnia," repeats Sir Leicester, unmindful of thesemollifying sentiments, "that you do mean what a pity. It isdisgraceful to the electors. But as you, though inadvertently andwithout intending so unreasonable a question, asked me 'what for?'let me reply to you. For necessary expenses. And I trust to yourgood sense, Volumnia, not to pursue the subject, here orelsewhere."Sir Leicester feels it incumbent on him to observe a crushingaspect towards Volumnia because it is whispered abroad that thesenecessary expenses will, in some two hundred election petitions, beunpleasantly connected with the word bribery, and because somegraceless jokers have consequently suggested the omission from theChurch service of the ordinary supplication in behalf of the HighCourt of Parliament and have recommended instead that the prayersof the congregation be requested for six hundred and fifty-eightgentlemen in a very unhealthy state."I suppose," observes Volumnia, having taken a little time torecover her spirits after her late castigation, "I suppose Mr.Tulkinghorn has been worked to death.""I don't know," says Sir Leicester, opening his eyes, "why Mr.Tulkinghorn should be worked to death. I don't know what Mr.Tulkinghorn's engagements may be. He is not a candidate."Volumnia had thought he might have been employed. Sir Leicestercould desire to know by whom, and what for. Volumnia, abashedagain, suggests, by somebody--to advise and make arrangements. SirLeicester is not aware that any client of Mr. Tulkinghorn has beenin need of his assistance.Lady Dedlock, seated at an open window with her arm upon itscushioned ledge and looking out at the evening shadows falling onthe park, has seemed to attend since the lawyer's name wasmentioned.A languid cousin with a moustache in a state of extreme debilitynow observes from his couch that man told him ya'as'dy thatTulkinghorn had gone down t' that iron place t' give legal 'pinion'bout something, and that contest being over t' day, 'twould behighly jawlly thing if Tulkinghorn should 'pear with news thatCoodle man was floored.Mercury in attendance with coffee informs Sir Leicester, hereupon,that Mr. Tulkinghorn has arrived and is taking dinner. My Ladyturns her head inward for the moment, then looks out again asbefore.Volumnia is charmed to hear that her delight is come. He is sooriginal, such a stolid creature, such an immense being for knowingall sorts of things and never telling them! Volumnia is persuadedthat he must be a Freemason. Is sure he is at the head of a lodge,and wears short aprons, and is made a perfect idol of withcandlesticks and trowels. These lively remarks the fair Dedlockdelivers in her youthful manner, while making a purse."He has not been here once," she adds, "since I came. I really hadsome thoughts of breaking my heart for the inconstant creature. Ihad almost made up my mind that he was dead."It may be the gathering gloom of evening, or it may be the darkergloom within herself, but a shade is on my Lady's face, as if shethought, "I would he were!""Mr. Tulkinghorn," says Sir Leicester, "is always welcome here andalways discreet wheresoever he is. A very valuable person, anddeservedly respected."The debilitated cousin supposes he is "'normously rich fler.""He has a stake in the country," says Sir Leicester, "I have nodoubt. He is, of course, handsomely paid, and he associates almoston a footing of equality with the highest society."Everybody starts. For a gun is fired close by."Good gracious, what's that?" cries Volumnia with her littlewithered scream."A rat," says my Lady. "And they have shot him."Enter Mr. Tulkinghorn, followed by Mercuries with lamps andcandles."No, no," says Sir Leicester, "I think not. My Lady, do you objectto the twilight?"On the contrary, my Lady prefers it."Volumnia?"Oh! Nothing is so delicious to Volumnia as to sit and talk in thedark."Then take them away," says Sir Leicester. "Tulkinghorn, I begyour pardon. How do you do?"Mr. Tulkinghorn with his usual leisurely ease advances, renders hispassing homage to my Lady, shakes Sir Leicester's hand, andsubsides into the chair proper to him when he has anything tocommunicate, on the opposite side of the Baronet's littlenewspaper-table. Sir Leicester is apprehensive that my Lady, notbeing very well, will take cold at that open window. My Lady isobliged to him, but would rather sit there for the air. SirLeicester rises, adjusts her scarf about her, and returns to hisseat. Mr. Tulkinghorn in the meanwhile takes a pinch of snuff."Now," says Sir Leicester. "How has that contest gone?""Oh, hollow from the beginning. Not a chance. They have broughtin both their people. You are beaten out of all reason. Three toone."It is a part of Mr. Tulkinghorn's policy and mastery to have nopolitical opinions; indeed, no opinions. Therefore he says "you"are beaten, and not "we."Sir Leicester is majestically wroth. Volumnia never heard of sucha thing. 'The debilitated cousin holds that it's sort of thingthat's sure tapn slongs votes--giv'n--Mob."It's the place, you know," Mr. Tulkinghorn goes on to say in thefast-increasing darkness when there is silence again, "where theywanted to put up Mrs. Rouncewell's son.""A proposal which, as you correctly informed me at the time, he hadthe becoming taste and perception," observes Sir Leicester, "todecline. I cannot say that I by any means approve of thesentiments expressed by Mr. Rouncewell when he was here for somehalf-hour in this room, but there was a sense of propriety in hisdecision which I am glad to acknowledge.""Ha!" says Mr. Tulkinghorn. "It did not prevent him from beingvery active in this election, though."Sir Leicester is distinctly heard to gasp before speaking. "Did Iunderstand you? Did you say that Mr. Rouncewell had been veryactive in this election?""Uncommonly active.""Against--""Oh, dear yes, against you. He is a very good speaker. Plain andemphatic. He made a damaging effect, and has great influence. Inthe business part of the proceedings he carried all before him."It is evident to the whole company, though nobody can see him, thatSir Leicester is staring majestically."And he was much assisted," says Mr. Tulkinghorn as a wind-up, "byhis son.""By his son, sir?" repeats Sir Leicester with awful politeness."By his son.""The son who wished to marry the young woman in my Lady's service?""That son. He has but one.""Then upon my honour," says Sir Leicester after a terrific pauseduring which he has been heard to snort and felt to stare, "thenupon my honour, upon my life, upon my reputation and principles,the floodgates of society are burst open, and the waters have--a--obliterated the landmarks of the framework of the cohesion by whichthings are held together!"General burst of cousinly indignation. Volumnia thinks it isreally high time, you know, for somebody in power to step in and dosomething strong. Debilitated cousin thinks--country's going--Dayvle--steeple-chase pace."I beg," says Sir Leicester in a breathless condition, "that we maynot comment further on this circumstance. Comment is superfluous.My Lady, let me suggest in reference to that young woman--""I have no intention," observes my Lady from her window in a lowbut decided tone, "of parting with her.""That was not my meaning," returns Sir Leicester. "I am glad tohear you say so. I would suggest that as you think her worthy ofyour patronage, you should exert your influence to keep her fromthese dangerous hands. You might show her what violence would bedone in such association to her duties and principles, and youmight preserve her for a better fate. You might point out to herthat she probably would, in good time, find a husband at ChesneyWold by whom she would not be--" Sir Leicester adds, after amoment's consideration, "dragged from the altars of herforefathers."These remarks he offers with his unvarying politeness and deferencewhen he addresses himself to his wife. She merely moves her headin reply. The moon is rising, and where she sits there is a littlestream of cold pale light, in which her head is seen."It is worthy of remark," says Mr. Tulkinghorn, "however, thatthese people are, in their way, very proud.""Proud?" Sir Leicester doubts his hearing."I should not be surprised if they all voluntarily abandoned thegirl--yes, lover and all--instead of her abandoning them, supposingshe remained at Chesney Wold under such circumstances.""Well!" says Sir Leicester tremulously. "Well! You should know,Mr. Tulkinghorn. You have been among them.""Really, Sir Leicester," returns the lawyer, "I state the fact.Why, I could tell you a story--with Lady Dedlock's permission."Her head concedes it, and Volumnia is enchanted. A story! Oh, heis going to tell something at last! A ghost in it, Volumnia hopes?"No. Real flesh and blood." Mr. Tulkinghorn stops for an instantand repeats with some little emphasis grafted upon his usualmonotony, "Real flesh and blood, Miss Dedlock. Sir Leicester,these particulars have only lately become known to me. They arevery brief. They exemplify what I have said. I suppress names forthe present. Lady Dedlock will not think me ill-bred, I hope?"By the light of the fire, which is low, he can be seen lookingtowards the moonlight. By the light of the moon Lady Dedlock canbe seen, perfecfly still."A townsman of this Mrs. Rouncewell, a man in exactly parallelcircumstances as I am told, had the good fortune to have a daughterwho attracted the notice of a great lady. I speak of really agreat lady, not merely great to him, but married to a gentleman ofyour condition, Sir Leicester."Sir Leicester condescendingly says, "Yes, Mr. Tulkinghorn,"implying that then she must have appeared of very considerablemoral dimensions indeed in the eyes of an iron-master."The lady was wealthy and beautiful, and had a liking for the girl,and treated her with great kindness, and kept her always near her.Now this lady preserved a secret under all her greatness, which shehad preserved for many years. In fact, she had in early life beenengaged to marry a young rake--he was a captain in the army--nothing connected with whom came to any good. She never did marryhim, but she gave birth to a child of which he was the father."By the light of the fire he can be seen looking towards themoonlight. By the moonlight, Lady Dedlock can be seen in profile,perfectly still."The captain in the army being dead, she believed herself safe; buta train of circumstances with which I need not trouble you led todiscovery. As I received the story, they began in an imprudence onher own part one day when she was taken by surprise, which showshow difficult it is for the firmest of us (she was very firm) to bealways guarded. There was great domestic trouble and amazement,you may suppose; I leave you to imagine, Sir Leicester, thehusband's grief. But that is not the present point. When Mr.Rouncewell's townsman heard of the disclosure, he no more allowedthe girl to be patronized and honoured than he would have sufferedher to be trodden underfoot before his eyes. Such was his pride,that he indignantly took her away, as if from reproach anddisgrace. He had no sense of the honour done him and his daughterby the lady's condescension; not the least. He resented the girl'sposition, as if the lady had been the commonest of commoners. Thatis the story. I hope Lady Dedlock will excuse its painful nature."There are various opinions on the merits, more or less conflictingwith Volumnia's. That fair young creature cannot believe thereever was any such lady and rejects the whole history on thethreshold. The majority incline to the debilitated cousin'ssentiment, which is in few words--"no business--Rouncewell's fernaltownsman." Sir Leicester generally refers back in his mind to WatTyler and arranges a sequence of events on a plan of his own.There is not much conversation in all, for late hours have beenkept at Chesney Wold since the necessary expenses elsewhere began,and this is the first night in many on which the family have beenalone. It is past ten when Sir Leicester begs Mr. Tulkinghorn toring for candles. Then the stream of moonlight has swelled into alake, and then Lady Dedlock for the first time moves, and rises,and comes forward to a table for a glass of water. Winkingcousins, bat-like in the candle glare, crowd round to give it;Volumnia (always ready for something better if procurable) takesanother, a very mild sip of which contents her; Lady Dedlock,graceful, self-possessed, looked after by admiring eyes, passesaway slowly down the long perspective by the side of that nymph,not at all improving her as a question of contrast.