Lavengro · Part I · Chapter 1 94 (1/2)

XCIV

“So you hope to bring these regions again beneath the banner of the Roman See?” said I, after the man in black had prepared the beverage, and tasted it.

“Hope,” said the man in black; “how can we fail? Is not the Church of these regions going to lose its prerogative?”

“Its prerogative?”

“Yes; those who should be the guardians of the religion of England are about to grant Papists emancipation and to remove the disabilities from Dissenters, which will allow the Holy Father to play his own game in England.”

On my inquiring how the Holy Father intended to play his game, the man in black gave me to understand that he intended for the present to cover the land with temples, in which the religion of Protestants would be continually scoffed at and reviled.

On my observing that such behaviour would savour strongly of ingratitude, the man in black gave me to understand that if I entertained the idea that the See of Rome was ever influenced in its actions by any feeling of gratitude I was much mistaken, assuring me that if the See of Rome in any encounter should chance to be disarmed and its adversary, from a feeling of magnanimity, should restore the sword which had been knocked out of its hand, the See of Rome always endeavoured on the first opportunity to plunge the said sword into its adversary’s bosom⁠—conduct which the man in black seemed to think was very wise, and which he assured me had already enabled it to get rid of a great many troublesome adversaries, and would, he had no doubt, enable it to get rid of a great many more.

On my attempting to argue against the propriety of such behaviour, the man in black cut the matter short, by saying, that if one party was a fool he saw no reason why the other should imitate it in its folly.

After musing a little while I told him that emancipation had not yet passed through the legislature, and that perhaps it never would, reminding him that there was often many a slip between the cup and the lip; to which observation the man in black agreed, assuring me, however, that there was no doubt that emancipation would be carried, inasmuch as there was a very loud cry at present in the land; a cry of “tolerance,” which had almost frightened the Government out of its wits; who, to get rid of the cry, was going to grant all that was asked in the way of toleration, instead of telling the people to “Hold their nonsense,” and cutting them down, provided they continued bawling longer.

I questioned the man in black with respect to the origin of this cry; but he said to trace it to its origin would require a long history; that, at any rate, such a cry was in existence, the chief raisers of it being certain of the nobility, called Whigs, who hoped by means of it to get into power, and to turn out certain ancient adversaries of theirs called Tories, who were for letting things remain in statu quo; that these Whigs were backed by a party amongst the people called Radicals, a specimen of whom I had seen in the public-house; a set of fellows who were always in the habit of bawling against those in place; “and so,” he added, “by means of these parties, and the hubbub which the papists and other smaller sects are making, a general emancipation will be carried, and the Church of England humbled, which is the principal thing which the See of Rome cares for.”

On my telling the man in black that I believed that even among the high dignitaries of the English Church there were many who wished to grant perfect freedom to religions of all descriptions, he said: “He was aware that such was the fact, and that such a wish was anything but wise, inasmuch as if they had any regard for the religion they professed, they ought to stand by it through thick and thin, proclaiming it to be the only true one, and denouncing all others, in an alliterative style, as dangerous and damnable; whereas by their present conduct, they were bringing their religion into contempt with the people at large, who would never continue long attached to a church, the ministers of which did not stand up for it, and likewise cause their own brethren, who had a clearer notion of things, to be ashamed of belonging to it. I speak advisedly,” said he, in continuation, “there is one Platitude.”

“And I hope there is only one,” said I; “you surely would not adduce the likes and dislikes of that poor silly fellow as the criterions of the opinions of any party?”

“You know him?” said the man in black; “nay, I heard you mention him in the public-house; the fellow is not very wise, I admit, but he has sense enough to know that unless a church can make people hold their tongues when it thinks fit, it is scarcely deserving the name of a church; no, I think that the fellow is not such a very bad stick, and that upon the whole he is, or rather was, an advantageous specimen of the High Church English clergy, who, for the most part, so far from troubling their heads about persecuting people, only think of securing their tithes, eating their heavy dinners, puffing out their cheeks with importance on country justice benches, and occasionally exhibiting their conceited wives, hoyden daughters, and gawky sons at country balls, whereas Platitude⁠—”

“Stop,” said I; “you said in the public-house that the Church of England was a persecuting church, and here in the dingle you have confessed that one section of it is willing to grant perfect freedom to the exercise of all religions, and the other only thinks of leading an easy life.”

“Saying a thing in the public-house is a widely different thing from saying it in the dingle,” said the man in black; “had the Church of England been a persecuting church, it would not stand in the position in which it stands at present; it might, with its opportunities, have spread itself over the greater part of the world. I was about to observe, that instead of practising the indolent habits of his High Church brethren, Platitude would be working for his money, preaching the proper use of fire and faggot, or rather of the halter and the whipping-post, encouraging mobs to attack the houses of Dissenters, employing spies to collect the scandal of neighbourhoods, in order that he might use it for sacerdotal purposes, and, in fact, endeavouring to turn an English parish into something like a Jesuit benefice in the south of France.”

“He tried that game,” said I, “and the parish said, ‘Pooh, pooh,’ and, for the most part, went over to the Dissenters.”

“Very true,” said the man in black, taking a sip at his glass, “but why were the Dissenters allowed to preach? why were they not beaten on the lips till they spat out blood, with a dislodged tooth or two? Why, but because the authority of the Church of England has, by its own fault, become so circumscribed that Mr. Platitude was not able to send a host of beadles and sbirri to their chapel to bring them to reason, on which account Mr. Platitude is very properly ashamed of his church, and is thinking of uniting himself with one which possesses more vigour and authority.”

“It may have vigour and authority,” said I, “in foreign lands, but in these kingdoms the day for practising its atrocities is gone by. It is at present almost below contempt, and is obliged to sue for grace in formâ pauperis.”

“Very true,” said the man in black, “but let it once obtain emancipation, and it will cast its slough, put on its fine clothes, and make converts by thousands. ‘What a fine church,’ they’ll say; ‘with what authority it speaks⁠—no doubts, no hesitation, no sticking at trifles.’ What a contrast to the sleepy English Church! they’ll go over to it by millions, till it preponderates here over every other, when it will of course be voted the dominant one; and then⁠—and then⁠—” and here the man in black drank a considerable quantity of gin and water.

“What then?” said I.

“What then?” said the man in black, “why, she will be true to herself. Let Dissenters, whether they be Church of England, as perhaps they may still call themselves, Methodist or Presbyterian, presume to grumble, and there shall be bruising of lips in pulpits, tying up to whipping-posts, cutting off ears and noses⁠—he! he! the farce of King Log has been acted long enough; the time for Queen Stork’s tragedy is drawing nigh;” and the man in black sipped his gin and water in a very exulting manner.

“And this is the church which, according to your assertion in the public-house, never persecutes?”

“I have already given you an answer,” said the man in black, “with respect to the matter of the public-house; it is one of the happy privileges of those who belong to my church to deny in the public-house what they admit in the dingle; we have high warranty for such double speaking. Did not the foundation stone of our church, Saint Peter, deny in the public-house what he had previously professed in the valley?”

“And do you think,” said I, “that the people of England, who have shown aversion to anything in the shape of intolerance, will permit such barbarities as you have described?”

“Let them become Papists,” said the man in black; “only let the majority become Papists, and you will see.”

“They will never become so,” said I; “the good sense of the people of England will never permit them to commit such an absurdity.”

“The good sense of the people of England?” said the man in black, filling himself another glass.

“Yes,” said I; “the good sense of not only the upper, but the middle and lower classes.”

“And of what description of people are the upper class?” said the man in black, putting a lump of sugar into his gin and water.

“Very fine people,” said I, “monstrously fine people; so, at least, they are generally believed to be.”

“He! he!” said the man in black; “only those think them so who don’t know them. The male part of the upper class are in youth a set of heartless profligates; in old age, a parcel of poor, shaking, nervous paillards. The female part, worthy to be the sisters and wives of such wretches, unmarried, full of cold vice, kept under by vanity and ambition, but which, after marriage, they seek not to restrain; in old age, abandoned to vapours and horrors, do you think that such beings will afford any obstacle to the progress of the church in these regions, as soon as her movements are unfettered?”

“I cannot give an opinion; I know nothing of them, except from a distance. But what think you of the middle classes?”

“Their chief characteristic,” said the man in black, “is a rage for grandeur and gentility; and that same rage makes us quite sure of them in the long run. Everything that’s lofty meets their unqualified approbation; whilst everything humble, or, as they call it, ‘low,’ is scouted by them. They begin to have a vague idea that the religion which they have hitherto professed is low; at any rate that it is not the religion of the mighty ones of the earth, of the great kings and emperors whose shoes they have a vast inclination to kiss, nor was used by the grand personages of whom they have read in their novels and romances, their Ivanhoes, their Marmions, and their Ladies of the Lake.”

“Do you think that the writings of Scott have had any influence in modifying their religious opinions?”

“Most certainly I do,” said the man in black. “The writings of that man have made them greater fools than they were before. All their conversation now is about gallant knights, princesses and cavaliers, with which his pages are stuffed⁠—all of whom were Papists, or very High Church, which is nearly the same thing; and they are beginning to think that the religion of such nice sweet-scented gentry must be something very superfine. Why, I know at Birmingham the daughter of an ironmonger, who screeches to the piano the Lady of the Lake’s hymn to the Virgin Mary, always weeps when Mary Queen of Scots is mentioned, and fasts on the anniversary of the death of that very wise martyr, Charles the First. Why, I would engage to convert such an idiot to popery in a week, were it worth my trouble. O Cavaliere Gualtiero, avete fatto molto in favore della Santa Sede!”212

“If he has,” said I, “he has done it unwittingly; I never heard before that he was a favourer of the popish delusion.”

“Only in theory,” said the man in black. “Trust any of the clan MacSycophant for interfering openly and boldly in favour of any cause on which the sun does not shine benignantly. Popery is at present, as you say, suing for grace in these regions in formâ pauperis; but let royalty once take it up, let old gouty George once patronise it, and I would consent to drink puddle-water, if the very next time the canny Scot was admitted to the royal symposium he did not say: ‘By my faith, yere Majesty, I have always thought, at the bottom of my heart, that popery, as ill-scrapit tongues ca’ it, was a very grand religion; I shall be proud to follow your Majesty’s example in adopting it.’ ”

“I doubt not,” said I, “that both gouty George and his devoted servant will be mouldering in their tombs long before royalty in England thinks about adopting popery.”

“We can wait,” said the man in black; “in these days of rampant gentility, there will be no want of kings nor of Scots about them.”

“But not Walters,” said I.

“Our work has been already tolerably well done by one,” said the man in black; “but if we wanted literature we should never lack in these regions hosts of literary men of some kind or other to eulogise us, provided our religion were in the fashion, and our popish nobles chose, and they always do our bidding, to admit the canaille to their tables, their kitchen tables. As for literature in general,” said he, “the Santa Sede is not particularly partial to it, it may be employed both ways. In Italy, in particular, it has discovered that literary men are not always disposed to be lick-spittles.”

“For example, Dante,” said I.

“Yes,” said the man in black. “A dangerous personage; that poem of his cuts both ways; and then there was Pulci, that Morgante of his cuts both ways, or rather one way, and that sheer against us; and then there was Aretino, who dealt so hard with the poveri frati;213 all writers, at least Italian ones, are not lick-spittles. And then in Spain, ’tis true, Lope de Vega and Calderon were most inordinate lick-spittles; the Principe Constante of the last is a curiosity in its way; and then the Mary Stuart of Lope; I think I shall recommend the perusal of that work to the Birmingham ironmonger’s daughter; she has been lately thinking of adding ‘a slight knowledge of the magneeficent language of the Peninsula’ to the rest of her accomplishments, he! he! he! but then there was Cervantes, starving, but straight; he deals us some hard knocks in that second part of his Quixote; then there was some of the writers of the picaresque novels. No; all literary men are not lick-spittles, whether in Italy or Spain, or, indeed, upon the Continent; it is only in England that all⁠—”

“Come,” said I, “mind what you are about to say of English literary men.”

“Why should I mind?” said the man in black, “there are no literary men here. I have heard of literary men living in garrets, but not in dingles, whatever philologists may do; I may, therefore, speak out freely. It is only in England that literary men are invariably lick-spittles; on which account, perhaps, they are so despised, even by those who benefit by their dirty services. Look at your fashionable novel writers, he! he! and above all at your newspaper editors, ho! ho!”

“You will, of course, except the editors of the ⸻ from your censure of the last class?” said I.