Part 15 (1/2)
CHAPTER XIV.
HOW TO EXERCISE CHURCH PATRONAGE.
Mildmay made his way back to Oxford without any delay. He knew that the Master of the college, who was a man with a family, had not yet set out on the inevitable autumn tour. But I must add that, though no man could have been more anxious to obtain preferment in his own person than he was to transfer his preferment to another, yet various doubts of the practicability of what he was going to attempt interfered, as he got further and further from Brentburn, with the enthusiasm which had sprung up so warmly in Cicely's presence. It would be very difficult, he felt, to convey to the Master the same clear perception of the rights of the case as had got into his own head by what he had seen and heard at the rectory; and if all he made by his hesitation was to throw the living into the hands of Ruffhead! For Brentburn was no longer an indifferent place--the same as any other in the estimation of the young don; quite the reverse; it was very interesting to him now. Notwithstanding the bran-new church, he felt that no other parish under the sun was half so attractive. The churchyard, with those two narrow threads of paths; the windows, with the lights in them, which glimmered within sight of the grave; the old-fas.h.i.+oned, sunny garden; the red cottages, with not one wall which was not awry, and projecting at every conceivable angle; the common, with its flush of heather--all these had come out of the unknown, and made themselves plain and apparent to him. He felt Brentburn to be in a manner his own; a thing which he would be willing to give to Mr. St. John, or rather to lend him for his lifetime; but he did not feel the least inclination to let it fall into the hands of any other man. Neither did he feel inclined to do as Mr. Chester, the late rector, had done--to expatriate himself, and leave the work of his parish to the curate in charge. Besides, he could not do this, for he was in perfect health; and he could neither tell the necessary lie himself, nor, he thought, get any doctor to tell it for him. As he got nearer and nearer to the moment which must decide all these uncertainties, he got more and more confused and troubled in his mind.
The Master was the college, as it happened at that moment; he was by far the most influential and the most powerful person in it; and what he said was the thing that would be done. Mildmay accordingly took his way with very mingled feelings, across the quadrangle to the beautiful and picturesque old house in which this potentate dwelt. Had he any right to attempt to make such a bargain as was in his mind? It was enough that the living had been offered to him. What had he to say but yes or no?
The Master's house was in a state of confusion when Mildmay entered it.
The old hall was full of trunks, the oaken staircase enc.u.mbered with servants and young people running up and down in all the bustle of a move. Eight children of all ages, and half as many servants, was the Master--brave man!--about to carry off to Switzerland. The packing was terrible, and not less terrible the feelings of the heads of the expedition, who were at that moment concluding their last calculation of expenses, and making up little bundles of circular notes. ”Here is Mr.
Mildmay,” said the Master's wife, ”and, thank Heaven! this reckoning up is over;” and she escaped with a relieved countenance, giving the new comer a smile of grat.i.tude. The head of the college was slightly fl.u.s.trated, if such a vulgar word can be used of such a sublime person.
I hope no one will suspect me of Romanizing tendencies, but perhaps a pale ecclesiastic, worn with thought, and untroubled by children, would have been more like the typical head of a college than this comely yet careworn papa. The idea, however, flashed through Mildmay's mind, who had the greatest reverence for the Master, that these very cares, this evident partaking of human nature's most ordinary burdens, would make the great don feel for the poor curate. Does not a touch of nature make the whole world kin?
”Well, Mildmay,” said the Master, ”come to say good-bye? You are just in time. We are off to-night by the Antwerp boat, which we have decided is the best way with our enormous party.” Here the good man sighed. ”Where are you going? You young fellows don't know you're born, as people say--coming and going, whenever the fancy seizes you, as light as a bird. Ah! wait till you have eight children, my dear fellow, to drag about the world.”
”That could not be for some time, at least,” said Mildmay, with a laugh; ”but I am not so disinterested in my visit as to have come merely to say good-bye. I wanted to speak to you about Brentburn.”
”Ah--oh,” said the Master; ”to be sure, your living. You have been to see it? Well! and how do you think it will feel to be an orderly rector, setting a good example, instead of enjoying yourself, and collecting crockery here?”
That was a cruel speech, and Mildmay grew red at the unworthy t.i.tle crockery; but the Master's savage sentiments on this subject were known.
What is a man with eight children to be expected to know about rare china?
”I believe there are much better collections than mine in some country rectories,” he said; ”but, never mind; I want to speak to you of something more interesting than crockery. I do not think I can take Brentburn.”
The Master framed his lips into that shape which in a profane and secular person would have produced a whistle of surprise. ”So!” he said, ”you don't like it? But I thought you were set upon it. All the better for poor Ruffhead, who will now be able to marry after all.”
”That is just what I wanted to speak to you about,” said Mildmay, embarra.s.sed. ”I don't want it to fall to Ruffhead. Listen, before you say anything! I don't want to play the part of the dog in the manger.
Ruffhead is young, and so am I; but, my dear Master, listen to me. The curate in charge, Mr. St. John, is not young; he has been twenty years at Brentburn, a laborious excellent clergyman. Think how it would look in any other profession, if either Ruffhead or I should thus step over his head.”
”The curate in charge!” said the Master, bewildered. ”What are you talking about? What has he to do with it? I know nothing about your curate in charge.”
”Of course you don't; and therefore there seemed to be some hope in coming to tell you. He is a member of our own college; that of itself is something. He used to know you, he says, long ago, when he was an undergraduate. He has been Chester's curate at Brentburn, occupying the place of the inc.u.mbent, and doing everything for twenty years; and now that Chester is dead, there is nothing for him but to be turned out at a moment's notice, and to seek his bread, at over sixty, somewhere else--and he has children too.”
This last sentence was added at a venture to touch the Master's sympathies; but I don't think that dignitary perceived the application; for what is there in common between the master of a college and a poor curate? He shook his head with, however, that sympathetic gravity and deference towards misfortune which no man who respects himself ever refuses to show.
”St. John, St. John?” he said. ”Yes, I think I recollect the name: very tall--stoops--a peaceable sort of being? Yes. So he's Chester's curate?
Who would have thought it? I suppose he started in life as well as Chester did, or any of us. What has possessed him to stay so long there?”
”Well--he is, as you say, a peaceable, mild man; not one to push himself----”
”_Push_ himself!” cried the Master; ”not much of that, I should think.
But even if you don't push yourself, you needn't stay for twenty years a curate. What does he mean by it? I am afraid there must be something wrong.”
”And I am quite sure there is nothing wrong,” cried Mildmay, warmly, ”unless devotion to thankless work, and forgetfulness of self is wrong; for that is all his worst enemy can lay to his charge.”
”You are very warm about it,” said the Master, with some surprise; ”which does you credit, Mildmay. But, my dear fellow, what do you expect me--what do you expect the college to do? We can't provide for our poor members who let themselves drop out of sight and knowledge. Perhaps if you don't take the living, and Ruffhead does, you might speak to him to keep your friend on as curate. But I have nothing to do with that kind of arrangement. And I'm sure you will excuse me when I tell you we start to-night.”
”Master,” said Mildmay solemnly, ”when you hear of a young colonel of thirty promoted over the head of an old captain of twice his age, what do you say?”
”Say, sir!” cried the Master, whose sentiments on this, as on most other subjects, were well known; ”say! why I say it's a disgrace to the country. I say it's the abominable system of purchase which keeps our best soldiers languis.h.i.+ng. Pray, what do you mean by that smile? You know I have no patience to discuss such a question; and I cannot see what it has to do with what we were talking of,” he added abruptly, breaking off with a look of defiance, for he suddenly saw the mistake he had made in Mildmay's face.