XI

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XI

But some thought it strange that the House of Cornleigh should fear the serfs upon its wide domainтБатАФthose serfs who had enjoyed for so many centuries its fostering care. Why fear those poor helpless cottagers whose destinies they had swayed so longтБатАФwhose hearts they had doubtless gained by centuries of kindness?

Oh foolish House of Cornleigh! Foolish Houses of CornleighтБатАФvery much in the plural, for they are a multitude in numberтБатАФnot to have made friends with Flesh and Blood, instead of grasping so blindly only at the mud underneath; neglecting and utterly ignoring the hearts that beat in the homesteads, laying hands so ambitiously on the mere surface of the earth.

Assuredly the Houses of Cornleigh will be swept away when the Browns and Shaws and similar folk can give utterance to their minds in the practical form of the vote under the shelter of Modern Magna Charta.

There is nothing so good as Law; nothing so evil as the Letter of the Law. Sitting alone in his justice-room, or in the midst of the fourteen other magnates at the Petty Sessions, Cornleigh administered the Letter of the Law in its harshest form to the labourers and poor folk who came under the jurisdiction of his tribunal. Most unjustтБатАФthough strictly legalтБатАФwere the sentences delivered upon the men who had nominally broken their contracts of service with the tenant farmers.

It was policyтБатАФdeep statesmanshipтБатАФon the part of the landowning Petty Sessions in every case to strictly administer the Law in favour of their own tenants. Nor were the tenants themselves blameless in bringing such chargesтБатАФlegally, yet foolishlyтБатАФagainst their men, well knowing that the men would not receive equity.

Foolish Houses of Cornleigh, making yourselves infamous for unjust justice.

The wits in Maasbury dubbed the Squire, Mr.┬аJustice Shallow Cornleigh.

The name stuck, but it was unjust to ShakespeareтАЩs Justice Shallow; for it is a remarkable fact that in Shakespeare even the despicable characters have traits of manliness. Even Pistol beat a man.

Justice Shallow had heard the chimes at midnight, had made the acquaintance of the bona robas, had been intoxicated (by inference), had sown wild oats in his youth.

Mr.┬аJustice Shallow Cornleigh had never been man enough to hear the chimes at midnight, nor to sow wild oats. His youth was blameless.

Justice Shallow had corn and beevesтБатАФriches gained by his own perseverance and parsimony in his settled middle-age.

Mr.┬аJustice Shallow Cornleigh had indeed land and beeves, but he had them in the same way as the puppy gets the hearthrugтБатАФbecause he was born in the family, not because of any exertions of his own.

Justice Shallow had spirit enough left in his old days to lend Falstaff a thousand pounds to push him at Court.

Mr.┬аJustice Shallow Cornleigh scrupulously bound every volume of тАЬThe Sporting Calendar,тАЭ but had never made a bet.

Justice Shallow, lean and foolish, had traits of manliness; but of Cornleigh nothing of the sort had ever been recorded. The head of the House of Cornleigh was a nonentity.

This was his fault, his guilt, his crime, in that he did nothingтБатАФthat he left all things to his steward Robert Godwin, to his Letitia, to the fourteen other magnates whose sentences he pronounced in Petty Sessions.

With his authority he stamped their folly, and became responsible for it. Iniquity was done in his name, and he cast down his eyes and did not see it.

It is a terrible thing when a fool sits in the place of power. Oppression is done without redress.

The system is beyond defence which permits fools to sit in the place of power.

Cornleigh himself was personally guiltless, but he made possible the crimes of others; he signed his name and sanctioned their tyrannies. Yet even in Maasbury, where so much had been done to alienate everyone, there was no animosity against the Squire himself. It was felt that it was not him.

тАЬJust the thing for Cornleigh! Capital thing for Cornleigh! Most energetic womanтБатАФjust the woman for Cornleigh!тАЭ

Whenever an important division was at hand, the Squire ran up to town, patiently sat out the debate, recorded his vote on the right side, and came down home again to his morning cigar in the lane.

His morning cigar in the lane under the oak was CornleighтАЩs real life. Cast down upon the sward, his gaze did not appear conscious of the sunshine or the shade, the white clouds drifting over, the squirrels leaping, the blackbirds passing from time to time. But we do not see with our eyes only; we possess a sense which enables us to feel that things are there without actually seeing them. The outward appearance is not always an indication of the inner feelings, any more than the acts by which the world judges are always of our own free will. The inscrutable Squire may have seen, may have felt, and understood much more than he was credited with. тАЬHe never looks at no girls,тАЭ said the keeper.

Possibly Cornleigh saw the тАЬgirlsтАЭ without exhibiting signs of admiration; possibly he had sometimes met women whose gentleness of demeanour reminded him that a happier fate might have been his had not a Letitia appeared; possibly sweeter feminine influences might have led him to act a little for himself, to examine and think before he affixed his signature to documents, of the real effect of which he was now profoundly ignorant or indifferent.

Still she was тАЬjust the woman for Cornleigh.тАЭ

Possibly the Squire, sitting sideways in his justice-room, was really perfectly conscious of FeliseтАЩs presence, and not insensible to her loveliness.

When at last the business was over, and someone asked if anyone wished to make an application to the magistrate, Felise motioned old Abner to rise, and advanced with him to the table. For a moment the Squire glanced at her, instantly resuming his downward look.

тАЬYou wish to make an application?тАЭ said the magistrateтАЩs clerk. Old Abner did not answer him, but stared hard at Cornleigh.

тАЬI knowed yer grandfeyther,тАЭ he said, shaking as he held on to the edge of the table in lieu of his sticks. For once I must write the words as he spoke them.

The Squire did not reply.

тАЬI knowed yer grandfeyther,тАЭ repeated the old labourer. тАЬYou beanтАЩt such a man as he wur.тАЭ

тАЬWhat is it you want?тАЭ asked the clerk.

тАЬState what you want,тАЭ repeated Cornleigh.

тАЬYou beanтАЩt half the man yer grandfeyther wur,тАЭ said old Abner. тАЬWhy doanтАЩt yer do summat? Why be yer allus at home? Yer grandfeyther used to come round to us folk.тАЭ

тАЬThis is irrelevant,тАЭ said the clerk.

тАЬIrrelevant,тАЭ said the Squire.

тАЬDonтАЩt you know what you want?тАЭ asked the clerk. Had not Felise been there they would have quickly hustled the old fellow away.

тАЬWant! of course I knows. I wants to know why he doanтАЩt do summat. There be a passel [parcel] of fools about, I can tell тАЩee.тАЭ

тАЬHis worship cannot sit here to listen to this,тАЭ said the clerk.

тАЬWhy beanтАЩt yer gone up to Parliament House?тАЭ said old Brown, quite heedless of the clerk.

тАЬPerhaps you will be good enough to explain what the man wants,тАЭ said the clerk, addressing Felise.

A little confused by the unfamiliar surroundings, Felise tried to make them understand. The clerk helped her by cross-questioning, and at last it was clear that the application was for permission for the aged labourer to end his days in his cottage.

тАЬHe has made such a capital garden,тАЭ said Felise, able to speak now. тАЬHe will never be able to live away from his garden. Could you not let him stay, Mr.┬аCornleigh? He worked for your grandfather and for your fatherтБатАФhe really has been a faithful old servant, and he cannot have much longer to live. It is not a great thing to grant. Do, please, think how very old and helpless he is!тАЭ

The Squire glanced at herтБатАФthe excitement had flushed her cheek; she was radiantly beautifulтБатАФand as quickly looked down again.

тАЬIt is clearly a matter for Mr.┬аGodwin,тАЭ said the clerk.

тАЬEvidently it is a matter for Godwin,тАЭ said the Squire, who always repeated what his advisers had said for him.

тАЬNo, no,тАЭ said Felise quickly. тАЬDo, please, decide this one little thing yourself, Mr.┬аCornleigh.тАЭ

The Squire got up and went into the next room, followed by the clerk; they held a short consultation, and returned again.

тАЬHis worship will confer with his steward,тАЭ said the clerk.

тАЬButтБатАФbut,тАЭ said Felise, тАЬif you would look into it yourself, Mr.┬аCornleigh, you would seeтБатАФyou wouldтБатАФтАЭ

тАЬMr.┬аCornleigh will confer with his steward,тАЭ said the clerk, closing his book and rising.

тАЬIтБатАФIтБатАФhumтБатАФahтБатАФI mean,тАЭ said the Squire, as he too rose and began to retreat, glancing momentarily, тАЬI will confer with my steward.тАЭ

тАЬBut doanтАЩt you know I?тАЭ said old Abner, as the Squire turned his back. тАЬDoanтАЩt you know I? Bless тАЩee, I bought pegs of yer grandfeyther!тАЭ

Squire and clerk were gone together; old Abner became very indignant.

тАЬWhy didnтАЩt he speak to I?тАЭ he grumbled. тАЬI knowed his grandfeyther. Why doanтАЩt he do summat hisself? A beanтАЩt half the man his grandfeyther wur.тАЭ

Felise could not persuade him to come away till the sergeant of police approached, and taking the old man by the arm quietly led him downstairs, and out into the roadway. There he went quietly with her, still muttering to himself about the SquireтАЩs тАЬgrandfeyther.тАЭ She drove him home, and left him at the cottage.

Mr.┬аGoring was not in the least surprised at the failure of the attempt; for they considered it a failure since the Squire was going to consult with Mr.┬аGodwin.

Mary Shaw was very dull and downhearted when she heard about it; she had had such hopes in her mistress, believing that her beauty would be sure to carry the day.

In his cottage old Abner was complaining to his wife of FeliseтАЩs interference and bad management. He was sure he should have got on all right if he had seen the Squire by himself, but she spoilt everything. тАЬHur would keep talking,тАЭ he said. тАЬHur kept on talk, talk, talk.тАЭ The truth being that he could say nothing for himself, and Felise had explained everything.

Ingratitude is the nature of old AbnerтАЩs race; so many hundred years of hard poverty and petty oppression have crushed out the better feelings, especially in the aged. For one act of kindness in eighty years, why should they feel grateful?

Still the fact remains that they are ungrateful, speaking ill of those who wish them well, incapable of understanding goodness of heart; the fact remains and renders them uninteresting and repellent, so that sympathy cannot attach itself to them. A little experience of their ways is sufficient to destroy the interest of the kindest-hearted.