Chapter 7: The Kindled Spark

“I DON’T approve of it,” said the Duke, bringing his hand down upon the table with an emphasis that made all the glasses on it ring. “You may talk as you will, Eustace; you may mix argument with sophistry as much as you like, but you’ll never make black white by all the rhetoric of the world. I don’t like it. I don’t like the whole movement, and I don’t believe that good will ever come of it; but leaving alone that point, on which we shall never agree, I hold that your methods are vile and hateful. You are setting class against class; you are rousing ill-will and stirring up hatred and enmity; you are teaching men to be discontented with their position in life——”

“Yes, sir, I know I am, because they ought to be discontented with degradation, ignorance, and hopeless misery. There is no reason why it should continue and increase as it does. We want them to be disgusted and discontented with it. Would there ever have been any civilisation and culture in the world had men always been contented to remain exactly in the position in which they were born?”

“Don’t talk your stump-orator nonsense to me,” said the old Duke sternly. “Confusion of terms does all very well to blind and deceive an ignorant mob; but keep it for them, and don’t try to advance your flimsy arguments by using it to men who can think and reason. The gradual growth of science and art and learning—the building on and on from an original foundation as the mental horizon extends—is generically different from the aimless discontent and selfish desire to rob and plunder, which is the outcome of the vaunted discontent you wish to inspire in the breasts of the people; and you know it as well as I do. You may keep that sort of talk for those who cannot see through it, and answer the fool according to his folly. But when you have men to deal with, and not ignorant children, you must think of sounder arguments if you desire to be listened to patiently.”

Eustace flushed rather hotly at the taunt, which was hardly deserved in his case, although he was aware that his cause—like too many others—was promoted by means of arguments which could be torn to shreds by any shrewd thinker. But for all that, he had a profound belief in the gospel of discontent as the most powerful factor in the world’s history, and he used it with a genuine belief in it, not with the desire to promote confusion in the minds of his hearers. But he did not reply to his kinsman’s sharp retort, and after a brief pause the Duke recommenced his former diatribe.

“I have been patient with you, Eustace. I recognise fully your position here, and that you have a certain latitude with regard to the people which would be accorded to no one else; but——”

“Indeed, uncle, I hope you do not think I have presumed upon that,” cried Eustace, with almost boyish eagerness, and a sidelong look at Bride, who was leaning back in her chair, a silent but watchful spectator of the little drama, and a keenly interested listener to the frequent arguments and dialogues which passed after dinner between her father and her cousin. It had become a regular custom with them to discuss the questions of the day during the hour they passed at the exit of the servants and the advent of dessert. Neither of them were drinkers of wine, but both were accomplished talkers; and Bride, though seldom speaking, had come to take a keen interest in these discussions, which were adding to her store of facts, and admitting her to regions of debate which had hitherto been sealed to her. She was not ignorant of the events passing in the world. She had read the newspapers to her mother too regularly for that; but naturally she had not seen those organs of the press which advocated the new and more liberal ideas coming then into vogue; and many of her cousin’s harrowing pictures of the fearful miseries of certain classes of the community haunted her with terrible persistency, and awakened within her an impotent longing to be able to do something to rescue them from such degradation and misery.

Her father, too, listened to Eustace with a moderation and patience which surprised her not a little, since up till the present time the very name of Radical filled him with disgust, and provoked him to an outbreak of scornful anger. If Eustace did not openly proclaim himself one of this party, he was advocating every principle of reform with all the ardour of one; and yet, until the present moment, the Duke had heard him expound his views, and had answered his arguments with considerable patience, and often with a certain amount of sympathy. To-day, however, the atmosphere was more stormy. Something had occurred to raise the displeasure of the old man, and soon it became apparent what the grievance was.

“I do not accuse you of presuming upon that,” he said, still speaking sternly—”not intentionally, at any rate; but you do wrong in being led blindfold by your youthful and headstrong passions, and by teaching others to follow in your wake, without your substratum of sense and moderation. That young Tresithny has been openly teaching the people in St. Erme’s and St. Bride’s to set law and order at defiance, and if necessary to avenge their so-called ‘wrongs’ at the sword’s point. He is collecting a regular following in the place, and there will be mischief here before long if things go on at this rate. On inquiry I found, of course, that he has been seen frequently in conversation with you, Eustace. Of course the inference is plain. You are teaching him your views, and trying to make a demagogue and stump-orator of him, with apparently only too much success. And he is just the type of man to be most dangerous if he is once aroused, as you may find to your cost one of these days, Eustace.”

“Most dangerous—or most useful—which is it?” questioned Eustace thoughtfully; yet, remembering some of the words and looks that had escaped Saul during their conversations, he could hardly have answered that question himself.

“From whom have you heard this?” he asked. Eustace had himself been absent from the castle for a few days, spending his time in the neighbourhood, but not returning to his kinsman’s house to sleep. He had returned this day only, to find the Duke’s mood somewhat changed, and he began now to suspect the cause of this.

“Mr. Tremodart is my informant,” answered the Duke briefly. “He will give you any information on the subject that you desire. I shall say no more. The subject is very distasteful and painful to me. I am well aware that I am growing old, and that the world is changing around me. I know perfectly that no power of mine will suffice to stem the current, and I shall therefore refrain from futile efforts. But none the less does it pain me that one bearing my name, and coming after me when I am gone, should be one of the foremost to stir up strife and set class against class, as you are doing, Eustace. And let me add just one more word of warning. It is an easy thing to set a stone rolling down a hill-side; but no man can foresee where it will stop when once in motion, and no human power can stop it when once the impetus is upon it. It will go hurtling down, carrying death and destruction with it; and those who have set it in motion can simply stand helplessly by, looking with dismay at the ruin they have provoked. Beware how you set in motion the forces of anarchy, Eustace, for Heaven alone knows what the end will be when that is done!” and the old man rose from his seat and walked from the room with a quiet and sorrowful dignity of aspect which struck and touched both his hearers. It was so unusual for him to break through the trifling ceremonial rules of life, that the very fact of his leaving the table before his daughter had risen showed that he must be greatly disturbed in mind. Bride looked after him with wistful eyes, and then suddenly turned upon Eustace with an imploring air, which was harder still to resist.