Eustace Marchmont: A friend of the people

by Evelyn Everett-Green

“Ay, indeed it could, sir. There be times when it seems as though it would be as easy to get the brute beast of the field to think, as it is to rouse them up to do it. And yet they have all immortal souls, though they care no more what becomes of them than the beasts that perish. Think of it!—think of it!”

Eustace gave Abner a quick keen look of mingled sympathy and criticism. He saw that their minds were working on absolutely different lines, but was by no means sure that these lines might not be made to coincide by a little gentle diplomacy. He recognised at once in this upright and stalwart old gardener a man of considerable power and influence, who might be a valuable ally if won over to the cause. But he knew, too, that the limitations imposed upon his intellect by the manner of his life, and his opportunities of self-culture, might form a serious barrier between them, so he resolved to feel his way cautiously before advocating openly any of those opinions of which he was apparently the pioneer in these parts.

“Ah!” he said, with a long-drawn breath, “that hopeless apathy towards everything ennobling and elevating comes from centuries of oppression and injustice. Whilst men are forced to live like beasts, they will grovel in the mire like beasts, and not even know that they are treated like beasts. But let them be raised out of their helpless misery and grinding poverty, and their minds will grow healthy with their bodies. The state into which the people of this land have fallen is a disgrace to humanity; and all men of principle must stand shoulder to shoulder together to strive to raise and elevate them. It is a duty which in these days is crying aloud to Heaven, and to which thinking men in all countries are responding with more or less of zeal and energy. Things cannot go on as they have been doing. France has taught us a grim lesson of what will happen at last if we continue to tread down and oppress our humble brethren, as we have been doing all these long years and centuries!”

Eustace threw back his head, and the fire flashed from his eyes. His nature was always stirred to its depths by the thought of the wrongs of humanity. He had not found round and about Penarvon quite that amount of physical misery that he had heard described in other places; yet he had seen enough of the bovine apathy and stolid indifference of the rustics to rouse within him feelings of indignation and keen anger. He argued fiercely within himself that men were made into patient beasts of burden just to suit the selfish desires of the classes above them, who dreaded the day of reckoning which would follow any awakening on their part to a sense of their wrongs. The artisans of the Midlands and the North had partially awakened, and from all sides was the cry going up—the cry for justice, for a hearing, for some one to expound their grievances and make a way out of them. Their helpless rage had hitherto been expended in the breaking of machinery, which they took to be their worst enemy, and in riots which had brought condign punishment upon them. Now they were being taken in hand by men of wealth and power, and were raising the cry of reform—crying aloud for representation in Parliament—agitating for a thing the nature of which they hardly understood, but which they were told would bring help and well-being in its wake. And men like Eustace Marchmont, with generous ardour all aflame in the cause which they held to be sacred and righteous, longed to see the spread of this feeling through the length and breadth of the land. The agricultural labourers were far more difficult to arouse than the artisan classes had been; but if the whole nation with one accord raised its voice aloud in a cry for justice, would not that cry prevail in spite of the whole weight and pressure brought to bear against it, and carry all before it in a triumphant series of long-needed reforms?

So Eustace argued in his hot and generous enthusiasm, and gently and cautiously did he strive to explain his views to Abner and win his sympathy for them. Here was a man who loved his fellows with a great and tender love—in that at least the two men were in accord—but whilst Abner thought almost exclusively of their immortal souls, Eustace’s mind was entirely bent upon the improvement of their physical condition. He was by no means certain in his heart of hearts whether they possessed souls at all. As to everything connected with the spiritual world his mind was altogether a blank. There might or might not be a life to come; he could not profess any opinion of his own on such a point as that, but at least of this present life he was sure, and his religion, in as far as he could be said to have one, was directed with perfect singleness of purpose towards the attainment of what he held to be the loftiest aim and object a man could have, namely, raising his fellow-men to a sense of their own responsibilities and rights, to ameliorate their condition, teach them self-restraint, self-culture, rational and intelligent happiness, to give them sunshine in their lives here, and a high code of moral ethics to live up to when they were able to receive it.

Something of all this did he strive to make plain to Abner as he sat beside him at his work. That he succeeded in winning the interest of his hearer was abundantly evident from the expression of the thoughtful intelligent face, and that the gardener understood a good deal of the questions of the day appeared from the nature of the questions and comments he made from time to time.

When Eustace had said his say there was silence for a while, and he waited with some eagerness to hear the effect produced upon the old man. He felt that Abner was a power in the place, and that a good deal of his own success might depend on how far he could get him to be a partisan in the good cause. Abner was slow to speak when his mind was not made up, and he was not one to reach a conclusion in a hurry. It was some time before he spoke, and then he said slowly and meditatively, “There’s a deal of good in what you say, sir, and a deal more good in what you mean; but yet for all that I can’t quite see as you do. There’s something in it all that’s like putting the cart before the horse, to use a homely phrase, and that’s not a thing as is found to answer when folks come to try it on.”

“I don’t think I quite take your meaning, Tresithny.”

“No, sir? Well, I’ll try to make it plainer like—that is, if you care to hear what an old man like me thinks, who has picked up his knowledge a bit here and a bit there, and less from books than from men.”

“I do care,” answered Eustace, “and yours are the best methods of gaining instruction. You are a man of the people and a thinking man. I do value your opinion, and should like to have it.”