Lundie dispatched Blanche to him with the list of her guests at
the dinner. "For your uncle's approval, my dear, as head of the
family."
While Sir Patrick was looking over the list, and while Arnold was
making his way to Blanche, at the back of her uncle's chair, One,
Two, and Three--with the Chorus in attendance on them--descended
in a body on Geoffrey, at the other end of the room, and appealed
in rapid succession to his superior authority, as follows:
"I say, Delamayn. We want You. Here is Sir Patrick running a
regular Muck at us. Calls us aboriginal Britons. Tells us we
ain't educated. Doubts if we could read, write, and cipher, if he
tried us. Swears he's sick of fellows showing their arms and
legs, and seeing which fellow's hardest, and who's got three
belts of muscle across his wind, and who hasn't, and the like of
that. Says a most infernal thing of a chap. Says--because a chap
likes a healthy out-of-door life, and trains for rowing and
running, and the rest of it, and don't see his way to stewing
over his books--_therefore_ he's safe to commit all the crimes in
the calendar, murder included. Saw your name down in the
newspaper for the Foot-Race; and said, when we asked him if he'd
taken the odds, he'd lay any odds we liked against you in the
other Race at the University--meaning, old boy, your Degree.
Nasty, that about the Degree--in the opinion of Number One. Bad
taste in Sir Patrick to rake up what we never mention among
ourselves--in the opinion of Number Two. Un-English to sneer at a
man in that way behind his back--in the opinion of Number Three.
Bring him to book, Delamayn. Your name's in the papers; he can't
ride roughshod over You."
The two choral gentlemen agreed (in the minor key) with the
general opinion. "Sir Patrick's views are certainly extreme,
Smith?" "I think, Jones, it's desirable to hear Mr. Delamayn on
the other side."
Geoffrey looked from one to the other of his admirers with an
expression on his face which was quite new to them, and with
something in his manner which puzzled them all.
"You can't argue with Sir Patrick yourselves," he said, "and you
want me to do it?"
One, Two, Three, and the Chorus all answered, "Yes."
"I won't do it."
One, Two, Three, and the Chorus all asked, "Why?"
"Because," answered Geoffrey, "you're all wrong. And Sir
Patrick's right."
Not astonishment only, but downright stupefaction, struck the
deputation from the garden speechless.
Without saying a word more to any of the persons standing near
him, Geoffrey walked straight up to Sir Patrick's arm-chair, and
personally addressed him. The satellites followed, and listened
(as well they might) in wonder.
"You will lay any odds, Sir," said Geoffrey "against me taking my
Degree? You're quite right. I sha'n't take my Degree. You doubt
whether I, or any of those fellows behind me, could read, write,
and cipher correctly if you tried us. You're right again--we
couldn't. You say you don't know why men like Me, and men like
Them, may not begin with rowing and running and the like of that,
and end in committing all the crimes in the calendar: murder
included. Well! you may be right again there. Who's to know what
may happen to him? or what he may not end in doing before he
dies? It may be Another, or it may be Me. How do I know? and how
do you?" He suddenly turned on the deputation, standing
thunder-struck behind him. "If you want to know what I think,
there it is for you, in plain words."
There was something, not only in the shamelessness of the
declaration itself, but in the fierce pleasure that the speaker
seemed to feel in making it, which struck the circle of
listeners, Sir Patrick included, with a momentary chill.
In the midst of the silence a sixth guest appeared on the lawn,
and stepped into the library--a silent, resolute, unassuming,
elderly man who had arrived the day before on a visit to
Windygates, and who was well known, in and out of London, as one
of the first consulting surgeons of his time.
"A discussion going on?" he asked. "Am I in the way?"
"There's no discussion--we are all agreed," cried Geoffrey,
answering boisterously for the rest. "The more the merrier, Sir!"
After a glance at Geoffrey, the surgeon suddenly checked himself
on the point of advancing to the inner part of the room, and
remained standing at the window.
"I beg your pardon," said Sir Patrick, addressing himself to
Geoffrey, with a grave dignity which was quite new in Arnold's
experience of him. "We are not all agreed. I decline, Mr.
Delamayn, to allow you to connect me with such an expression of
feeling on your part as we have just heard. The language you have
used leaves me no alternative but to meet your statement of what
you suppose me to have said by my statement of what I really did
say. It is not my fault if the discussion in the garden is
revived before another audience in this room--it is yours,"
He looked as he spoke to Arnold and Blanche, and from them to the
surgeon standing at the window.
The surgeon had found an occupation for himself which completely
isolated him among the rest of the guests. Keeping his own face
in shadow, he was studying Geoffrey's face, in the full flood of
light that fell on it, with a steady attention which must have
been generally remarked, if all eyes had not been turned toward
Sir Patrick at the time.
It was not an easy face to investigate at that moment.
While Sir Patrick had been speaking Geoffrey had seated himself
near the window, doggedly impenetrable to the reproof of which he
was the object. In his impatience to consult the one authority
competent to decide the question of Arnold's position toward
Anne, he had sided with Sir Patrick, as a means of ridding
himself of the unwelcome presence of his friends--and he had
defeated his own purpose, thanks to his own brutish incapability
of bridling himself in the pursuit of it. Whether he was now
discouraged under these circumstances, or whether he was simply
resigned to bide his time till his time came, it was impossible,
judging by outward appearances, to say. With a heavy dropping at
the corners of his mouth, with a stolid indifference staring dull
in his eyes, there he sat, a man forearmed, in his own obstinate
neutrality, against all temptation to engage in the conflict of
opinions that was to come.
Sir Patrick took up the newspaper which he had brought in from
the garden, and looked once more to see if the surgeon was
attending to him.
No! The surgeon's attention was absorbed in his own subject.
There he was in the same position, with his mind still hard at
work on something in Geoffrey which at once interested and
puzzled it! "That man," he was thinking to himself, "has come
here this morning after traveling from London all night. Does any
ordinary fatigue explain what I se
e in his face? No!"
"Our little discussion in the garden," resumed Sir Patrick,
answering Blanche's inquiring look as she bent over him, "began,
my dear, in a paragraph here announcing Mr. Delamayn's
forthcoming appearance in a foot-race in the neighborhood of
London. I hold very unpopular opinions as to the athletic
displays which are so much in vogue in England just now. And it
is possible that I may have expressed those opinions a li ttle
too strongly, in the heat of discussion, with gentlemen who are
opposed to me--I don't doubt, conscientiously opposed--on this
question."
A low groan of protest rose from One, Two, and Three, in return
for the little compliment which Sir Patrick had paid to them.
"How about rowing and running ending in the Old Bailey and the
gallows? You said that, Sir--you know you did!"
The two choral gentlemen looked at each other, and agreed with
the prevalent sentiment. "It came to that, I think, Smith." "Yes,
Jones, it certainly came to that."
The only two men who still cared nothing about it were Geoffrey
and the surgeon. There sat the first, stolidly
neutral--indifferent alike to the attack and the defense. There
stood the second, pursuing his investigation--with the growing
interest in it of a man who was beginning to see his way to the
end.
"Hear my defense, gentlemen," continued Sir Patrick, as
courteously as ever. "You belong, remember, to a nation which
especially claims to practice the rules of fair play. I must beg
to remind you of what I said in the garden. I started with a
concession. I admitted--as every person of the smallest sense
must admit--that a man will, in the great majority of cases, be
all the fitter for mental exercise if he wisely combines physical
exercise along with it. The whole question between the two is a
question of proportion and degree, and my complaint of the
present time is that the present time doesn't see it. Popular
opinion in England seems to me to be, not only getting to
consider the cultivation of the muscles as of equal importance
with the cultivation of the mind, but to be actually
extending--in practice, if not in theory--to the absurd and
dangerous length of putting bodily training in the first place of
importance, and mental training in the second. To take a case in
point: I can discover no enthusiasm in the nation any thing like
so genuine and any thing like so general as the enthusiasm
excited by your University boat-race. Again: I see this Athletic
Education of yours made a matter of public celebration in schools
and colleges; and I ask any unprejudiced witness to tell me which
excites most popular enthusiasm, and which gets the most
prominent place in the public journals--the exhibition, indoors
(on Prize-day), of what the boys can do with their minds? or the
exhibition, out of doors (on Sports-day), of what the boys can do
with their bodies? You know perfectly well which performance
excites the loudest cheers, which occupies the prominent place in
the newspapers, and which, as a necessary consequence, confers
the highest social honors on the hero of the day."
Another murmur from One, Two, and Three. "We have nothing to say
to that, Sir; have it all your own way, so far."
Another ratification of agreement with the prevalent opinion
between Smith and Jones.
"Very good," pursued Sir Patrick. "We are all of one mind as to
which way the public feeling sets. If it is a feeling to be
respected and encouraged, show me the national advantage which
has resulted from it. Where is the influence of this modern
outburst of manly enthusiasm on the serious concerns of life? and
how has it improved the character of the people at large? Are we
any of us individually readier than we ever were to sacrifice our
own little private interests to the public good? Are we dealing
with the serious social questions of our time in a conspicuously
determined, downright, and definite way? Are we becoming a
visibly and indisputably purer people in our code of commercial
morals? Is there a healthier and higher tone in those public
amusements which faithfully reflect in all countries the public
taste? Produce me affirmative answers to these questions, which
rest on solid proof, and I'll accept the present mania for
athletic sports as something better than an outbreak of our
insular boastfulness and our insular barbarity in a new form."
"Question! question!" in a general cry, from One, Two, and Three.
"Question! question!" in meek reverberation, from Smith and
Jones.
"That is the question," rejoined Sir Patrick. "You admit the
existence of the public feeling and I ask, what good does it do?"
"What harm does it do?" from One, Two, and Three.
"Hear! hear!" from Smith and Jones.
"That's a fair challenge," replied Sir Patrick. "I am bound to
meet you on that new ground. I won't point, gentlemen, by way of
answer, to the coarseness which I can see growing on our national
manners, or to the deterioration which appears to me to be
spreading more and more widely in our national tastes. You may
tell me with perfect truth that I am too old a man to be a fair
judge of manners and tastes which have got beyond my standards.
We will try the issue, as it now stands between us, on its
abstract merits only. I assert that a state of public feeling
which does practically place physical training, in its
estimation, above moral and mental training, is a positively bad
and dangerous state of feeling in this, that it encourages the
inbred reluctance in humanity to submit to the demands which
moral and mental cultivation must inevitably make on it. Which am
I, as a boy, naturally most ready to do--to try how high I can
jump? or to try how much I can learn? Which training comes
easiest to me as a young man? The training which teaches me to
handle an oar? or the training which teaches me to return good
for evil, and to love my neighbor as myself? Of those two
experiments, of those two trainings, which ought society in
England to meet with the warmest encouragement? And which does
society in England practically encourage, as a matter of fact?"
"What did you say yourself just now?" from One, Two, and Three.
"Remarkably well put!" from Smith and Jones.
"I said," admitted Sir Patrick, "that a man will go all the
better to his books for his healthy physical exercise. And I say
that again--provided the physical exercise be restrained within
fit limits. But when public feeling enters into the question, and
directly exalts the bodily exercises above the books--then I say
public feeling is in a dangerous extreme. The bodily exercises,
in that case, will be uppermost in the youth's thoughts, will
have the strongest hold on his interest, will take the lion's
share of his time, and will, by those means--barring the few
purely exceptional instances--slowly and surely end in leaving
h
im, to all good moral and mental purpose, certainly an
uncultivated, and, possibly, a dangerous man."
A cry from the camp of the adversaries: "He's got to it at last!
A man who leads an out-of-door life, and uses the strength that
God has given to him, is a dangerous man. Did any body ever hear
the like of that?"
Cry reverberated, with variations, by the two human echoes: "No!
Nobody ever heard the like of that!"
"Clear your minds of cant, gentlemen," answered Sir Patrick. "The
agricultural laborer leads an out-of-door life, and uses the
strength that God has given to him. The sailor in the merchant
service does the name. Both are an uncultivated, a shamefully
uncultivated, class--and see the result! Look at the Map of
Crime, and you will find the most hideous offenses in the
calendar, committed--not in the towns, where the average man
doesn't lead an out-of-door life, doesn't as a rule, use his
strength, but is, as a rule, comparatively cultivated--not in the
towns, but in the agricultural districts. As for the English
sailor--except when the Royal Navy catches and cultivates
him--ask Mr. Brinkworth, who has served in the merchant navy,
what sort of specimen of the moral influence of out-of-door life
and muscular cultivation _he_ is."
"In nine cases out of ten," said Arnold, "he is as idle and
vicious as ruffian as walks the earth."
Another cry from the Opposition: "Are _we_ agricultural laborers?
Are _we_ sailors in the merchant service?"
A smart reverberation from the human echoes: "Smith! am I a
laborer?" "Jones! am I a sailor?"
"Pray let us not be personal, gentlemen," said Sir Patrick. "I am
speaking generally, and I can only meet extreme objections by
pushing my argument to extreme limits. The laborer and the sailor
have served my purpose. If the laborer and
the sailor offend you, by all means let them walk off the stage!
I hold to the position which I advanced just now. A man may be
well born, well off, well dressed, well fed--but if he is an
uncultivated man, he is (in spite of all those advantages) a man
with special capacities for evil in him, on that very account.
Don't mistake me! I am far from saving that the present rage for
exclusively muscular accomplishments must lead inevitably
downward to the lowest deep of depravity. Fortunately for
society, all special depravity is more or less certainly the
result, in the first instance, of special temptation. The
ordinary mass of us, thank God, pass through life without being
exposed to other than ordinary temptations. Thousands of the
young gentlemen, devoted to the favorite pursuits of the present
time, will get through existence with no worse consequences to
themselves than a coarse tone of mind and manners, and a
lamentable incapability of feeling any of those higher and
gentler influences which sweeten and purify the lives of more
cultivated men. But take the other case (which may occur to any
body), the case of a special temptation trying a modern young man
of your prosperous class and of mine. And let me beg Mr. Delamayn
to honor with his attention what I have now to say, because it
refers to the opinion which I did really express--as
distinguished from the opinion which he affects to agree with,
and which I never advanced."
Geoffrey's indifference showed no signs of giving way. "Go on!"
he said--and still sat looking straight before him, with heavy
eyes, which noticed nothing, and expressed nothing.
"Take the example which we have now in view," pursued Sir
Patrick--"the example of an average young gentleman of our time,
blest with every advantage that physical cultivation can bestow
on him. Let this man be tried by a temptation which insidiously
calls into action, in his own interests, the savage instincts
latent in humanity--the instincts of self-seeking and cruelty
which are at the bottom of all crime. Let this man be placed
toward some other person, guiltless of injuring him, in a