One evening, Ursus, being in the side scene, which was the kitchen-door of the Green Box, seeing Easter Nicless standing by him, showed him this man in the crowd, and asked him:
"Do you know that man?"
"Of course I do."
"Who is he?"
"A sailor."
"What is his name?" said Gwynplaine, interrupting.
"Tom-Jim-Jack," replied the innkeeper.
Then, as he redescended the steps at the back of the Green Box, to enter the inn, Master Nicless let fall this profound reflection, so deep as to be unintelligible:
"What a pity that he should not be a lord. He would make a famous scoundrel."
Otherwise, although established in the tavern, the group in the Green Box had in no way altered their manner of living, and held to their isolated habits. Except a few words exchanged now and then with the tavern-keeper, they held no communication with any of those who were living, either permanently or temporarily, in the inn; and continued to keep to themselves.
Since they had been at Southwark, Gwynplaine had made it his habit, after the performance and the supper of both family and horses--when Ursus and Dea had gone to bed in their respective compartments--to breathe a little the fresh air of the bowling-green, between eleven o'clock and midnight. A certain vagrancy in our spirits impels us to take walks at night, and to saunter under the stars. There is a mysterious expectation in youth. Therefore it is that we are prone to wander out in the night, without an object. At that hour there was no one in the fair-ground, except, perhaps, some reeling drunkard, making staggering shadows in dark corners. The empty taverns were shut up, and the lower room in the Tadcaster Inn was dark, except where, in some corner, a solitary candle lighted a last reveler. An indistinct glow gleamed through the window-shutters of the half-closed tavern, as Gwynplaine, pensive, content, and dreaming, happy in a haze of divine joy, passed backward and forward in front of the half-open door. Of what was he thinking? Of Dea--of nothing--of everything--of the depths. He never wandered far from the Green Box, being held, as by a thread, to Dea. A few steps away from it was far enough for him.
Then he returned, found the whole Green Box asleep, and went to bed himself.
* * *
IV
CONTRARIES FRATERNISE IN HATE
SUCCESS IS HATEFUL, especially to those whom it overthrows. It is rare that the eaten adore the eaters. The Laughing Man had decidedly made a hit. The mountebanks around were indignant. A theatrical success is a siphon--it pumps in the crowd and creates emptiness all around. The shop opposite is done for. The increased receipts of the Green Box caused a corresponding decrease in the receipts of the surrounding shows. Those entertainments, popular up to that time, suddenly collapsed. It was like a low-water mark, showing inversely, but in perfect concordance, the rise here, the fall there. Theatres experience the effect of tides: they rise in one only on condition of falling in another.
The swarming foreigners who exhibited their talents and their trumpetings on the neighbouring platforms, seeing themselves ruined by the Laughing Man, were despairing, yet dazzled. All the grimacers, all the clowns, all the merry-andrews envied Gwynplaine. How happy he must be with the snout of a wild beast! The buffoon mothers and dancers on the tight rope, with pretty children, looked at them in anger, and, pointing out Gwynplaine, would say: "What a pity you have not a face like that!" Some beat their babes savagely for being pretty. More than one, had she known the secret, would have fashioned her son's face in the Gwynplaine style. The head of an angel, which brings no money in, is not as good as that of a lucrative devil. One day the mother of a little child who was a marvel of beauty, and who acted a cupid, exclaimed: "Our children are failures! They only succeeded with Gwynplaine." And shaking her fist at her son, she added: "If I only knew your father, wouldn't he catch it!"
Gwynplaine was the goose with the golden eggs. What a marvellous phenomenon! There was an uproar through all the caravans. The mountebanks, enthusiastic and exasperated, looked at Gwynplaine and gnashed their teeth. Admiring anger is called envy. Then it howls! They tried to disturb Chaos Vanquished; made a cabal, hissed, scolded, shouted! This was an excuse for Ursus to make out-of-door harangues to the populace, and for his friend Tom-Jim-Jack to use his fists to re-establish order. His pugilistic marks of friendship brought him still more under the notice and regard of Ursus and Gwynplaine. At a distance, however, for the group in the Green Box sufficed to themselves, and held aloof from the rest of the world, and because Tom-Jim-Jack, this leader of the mob, seemed a sort of supreme bully, without a tie, without a friend; a smasher of windows, a manager of men, now here, now gone, hail-fellow-well-met with every one, companion of none.
This raging envy against Gwynplaine did not give in for a few friendly hits from Tom-Jim-Jack. The outcries having miscarried, the mountebanks of Tarrinzeau Field fell back on a petition. They addressed to the authorities. This is the usual course. Against an unpleasant success we first try to stir up the crowd and then we petition the magistrate.
With the merry-andrews the reverends allied themselves. The Laughing Man had inflicted a blow on the preachers. There were empty places not only in the caravans, but in the churches. The congregations in the churches of the five parishes in Southwark had dwindled away. People left before the sermon to go to Gwynplaine. Chaos Vanquished, the Green Box, the Laughing Man, all the abominations of Baal, eclipsed the eloquence of the pulpit. The voice crying in the desert, vox clamantis in deserto, is discontented, and is prone to call for the aid of the authorities. The clergy of the five parishes complained to the Bishop of London, who complained to her Majesty.
The complaint of the merry-andrews was based on religion. They declared it to be insulted. They described Gwynplaine as a sorcerer, and Ursus as an atheist.
The reverend gentlemen invoked social order. Setting orthodoxy aside, they took action on the fact that acts of Parliament were violated. It was clever. Because it was the period of Mr. Locke, who had died but six months previously--28th October, 1704--and when scepticism, which Bolingbroke had imbibed from Voltaire, was taking root. Later on Wesley came and restored the Bible, as Loyola restored the Papacy.
Thus the Green Box was battered on both sides; by the merry-andrews, in the name of the Pentateuch, and by chaplains in the name of the police. In the name of heaven and of the inspectors of nuisances. The Green Box was denounced by the priests as an obstruction, and by the jugglers as sacrilegious.
Had they any pretext? Was there any excuse? Yes. What was the crime? This: there was the wolf. A dog was allowable; a wolf forbidden. In England the wolf is an outlaw. England admits the dog which barks, but not the dog which howls--a shade of difference between the yard and the woods. The rectors and vicars of the five parishes of Southwark called attention in their petitions to numerous Parliamentary and royal statutes putting the wolf beyond the protection of the law. They moved for something like the imprisonment of Gwynplaine and the execution of the wolf, or at any rate for their banishment. The question was one of public importance, the danger to persons passing, etc. And, on this point, they appealed to the Faculty. They cited the opinion of the Eighty physicians of Lon don, a learned body which dates from Henry VIII, which has a seal like that of the State, which can raise sick people to the dignity of being amenable to their jurisdiction, which has the right to imprison those who infringe its law and contravene its ordinances, and which, among other useful regulations for the health of the citizens, put beyond doubt this fact acquired by science: that if a wolf sees a man first, the man becomes hoarse for life. Besides, he may be bitten.
Homo, then, was a pretext.
Ursus heard of these designs through the innkeeper. He was uneasy. He was afraid of two claws--the police and the justices. To be afraid of the magistracy, it is sufficient to be afraid, there is no need to be guilty. Ursus had no desire for contact with sheriffs, provosts, bailiffs, and coroners. His eagerness to make their acquaintance amounted to nil. his curiosity to see the magi
strates was about as great as the hare's to see the greyhound.
He began to regret that he had come to London. "'Better' is the enemy of 'good,'" murmured he apart. "I thought the proverb was ill-considered. I was wrong. Stupid truths are true truths."
Against the coalition of powers--merry-andrews taking in hand the cause of religion, and chaplains, indignant in the name of medicine--the poor Green Box, suspected of sorcery in Gwynplaine and of hydrophobia in Homo, had only one thing in its favour (but a thing of great power in England), municipal inactivity. It is to the local authorities letting things take their own course that Englishmen owe their liberty. Liberty in England behaves very much as the sea around England. It is a tide. Little by little manners surmount the law. A cruel system of legislation drowned under the wave of custom; a savage code of laws still visible through the transparency of universal liberty: such is England.
The Laughing Man, Chaos Vanquished, and Homo might have mountebanks, preachers, bishops, the House of Commons, the House of Lords, her Majesty, London, and the whole of England against them, and remain undisturbed so long as Southwark permitted.
The Green Box was the favourite amusement of the suburb, and the local authorities seemed disinclined to interfere. In England, indifference is protection. So long as the sheriff of the county of Surrey, to the jurisdiction of which Southwark belongs, did not move in the matter, Ursus breathed freely, and Homo could sleep on his wolf's ears.
So long as the hatred which it excited did not occasion acts of violence it increased success. The Green Box was none the worse for it, for the time. On the contrary, hints were scattered that it contained something mysterious. Hence the Laughing Man became more and more popular. The public follow with gusto the scent of anything contraband. To be suspected is a recommendation. The people adopt by instinct that at which the finger is pointed. The thing which is denounced is like the savour of forbidden fruit; we rush to eat it. Besides, applause which irritates some one, especially if that some one is in authority, is sweet. To perform, while passing a pleasant evening, both an act of kindness to the oppressed, and of opposition to the oppressor, is agreeable. You are protecting at the same time that you are being amused. So the theatrical caravans on the bowling-green continued to howl and to cabal against the Laughing Man. Nothing could be better calculated to enhance his success. The shouts of one's enemies are useful, and give point and vitality to one's triumph. A friend wearies sooner in praise than an enemy in abuse. To abuse does not hurt. Enemies are ignorant of this fact. They can not help insulting us, and this constitutes their use. They can not hold their tongues, and thus keep the public awake. The crowds which flocked to Chaos Vanquished increased daily.
Ursus kept what Master Nicless had said of intriguers and complaints in high places to himself, and did not tell Gwynplaine, lest it should trouble the ease of his acting by creating anxiety. If evil was to come, he would be sure to know it soon enough.
* * *
V
THE WAPENTAKE
ONCE, HOWEVER, he thought it his duty to derogate from this prudence, for prudence' sake, thinking that it might be well to make Gwynplaine uneasy. It is true that this idea arose from a circumstance much graver, in the opinion of Ursus, than the cabals of the fair or of the church. Gwynplaine, as he picked up a farthing, which had fallen when counting the receipts, had, in the presence of the innkeeper, drawn a contrast between the farthing, representing the misery of the people, and the die, representing, under the figure of Anne, the parasitical magnificence of the throne--an ill-sounding speech. This observation was repeated by Master Nicless, and had such a run, that it reached to Ursus through Fibi and Vinos. It put Ursus into a fever. Seditious words, lèse-majesté. He took Gwynplaine severely to task.
"Watch over your abominable jaws. There is a rule for the great--to do nothing; and a rule for the small--to say nothing. The poor man has but one friend, silence. He should only pronounce one syllable: 'yes.' To confess and to consent is all the right he has. 'Yes,' to the judge, 'yes,' to the king. Great people, if it pleases them to do so, beat us. I have received blows from them. It is their prerogative; and they lose nothing of their greatness by breaking our bones. The ossifrage is a species of eagle. Let us venerate the sceptre, which is the first of staves. Respect is prudence, and mediocrity is safety. To insult the king is to put one's self in the same danger as a girl rashly paring the nails of a lion. They tell me that you have been prattling about the farthing, which is the same thing as the liard, and that you have found fault with the august medallion, for which they sell us at market the eighth part of a salt herring. Take care; let us be serious. Consider the existence of pains and penalties. Suck in these legislative truths. You are in a country in which the man who cuts down a tree three years old is quietly taken off to the gallows. As to swearers, their feet are put into the stocks. The drunkard is shut up in a bars ret with the bottom out, so that he can walk, with a hole in the top, through which his head is passed, and with two in the bung for his hands, so that he can not lie down. He who strikes another one in Westminster Hall is imprisoned for life and has his goods confiscated. Whoever strikes any one in the king's palace has his hand struck off. A fillip on the nose chances to bleed, and, behold! you are maimed for life. He who is convicted of heresy in the bishop's court is burned alive. It was for no great matter that Cuthbert Simpson was quartered on a turnstile. Three years since, in 1702, which is not long ago, you see, they placed in the pillory a scoundrel, called Daniel Defoe, who had had the audacity to print the names of the Members of Parliament who had spoken on the previous evening. He who commits high treason is disemboweled alive, and they tear out his heart and buffet his cheeks with it. Impress on yourself notions of right and justice. Never allow yourself to speak a word, and at the first cause of anxiety, run for it. Such is the bravery which I counsel and which I practice. In the way of temerity, imitate the birds; in the way of talking, imitate the fishes. England has one admirable point in her favour, that her legislation is very mild."
His admonition over, Ursus remained uneasy for some time. Gwynplaine not at all. The intrepidity of youth arises from want of experience. However, it seemed that Gwynplaine had good reason for his easy mind, for the weeks flowed on peacefully, and no bad consequences seemed to have resulted from his observations about the queen.
Ursus, we know, lacked apathy, and, like a roebuck on the watch, kept a lookout in every direction.
One day, a short time after his sermon to Gwynplaine, as he was looking out from the window in the wall which commanded the field, he became suddenly pale.
"Gwynplaine?"
"What?"
"Look."
"Where?"
"In the field."
"Well?"
"Do you see that passer-by?"
"The man in black?"
"Yes."
"Who has a kind of a mace in his hand?"
"Yes."
"Well?"
"Well, Gwynplaine, that man is a wapentake."
"What is a wapentake?"
"He is the bailiff of the hundred."
"What is the bailiff of the hundred?"
"He is the præpositus hundredi!"
"And what is the præpositus hundredi?"
"He is a terrible officer."
"What has he got in his hand?"
"The iron weapon."
"What is the iron weapon?"
"A thing made of iron."
"What does he do with that?"
"First of all, he swears upon it. It is for that reason that he is called the wapentake."
"And then?"
"Then he touches you with it."
"With what?"
"With the iron weapon."
"The wapentake touches you with the iron weapon?"
"Yes."
"What does that mean?"
"That means, follow me.
"And must you follow?"
"Yes."
"Whither?"
"How should I k
now?"
"But he tells you where he is going to take you?"
"How is that?"
"He says nothing and you say nothing."
"But----"
"He touches you with the iron weapon. All is over then. You must go."
"But where?"
"After him."
"But where?"
"Wherever he likes, Gwynplaine."
"And if you resist?"
"You are hanged."
Ursus looked out of the window again, and drawing a long breath, said:
"Thank God! He has passed. He was not coming here."
Ursus was perhaps unreasonably alarmed about the indiscreet remark, and the consequences likely to result from the unconsidered words of Gwynplaine.
Master Nicless, who had heard them, had no interest in compromising the poor inhabitants of the Green Box. He was amassing, at the same time as the Laughing Man, a nice little fortune. Chaos Vanquished had succeeded in two ways. While it made art triumph on the stage, it made drunkenness prosper in the tavern.
* * *
VI
THE MOUSE EXAMINED BY THE CATS
URSUS WAS SOON afterward startled by another alarming circumstance. This time it was he himself who was concerned. He was summoned to Bishopsgate before a commission composed of three disagreeable countenances. They belonged to three doctors, called overseers. One was a Doctor of Theology, delegated by the Dean of Westminster; another, a Doctor of Medicine, delegated by the College of Surgeons; the third, a Doctor in History and Civil Law, delegated by Gresham College. These three experts in omne re scibile had the censorship of everything said in public throughout the bounds of the hundred and thirty parishes of London, the seventy-three of Middlesex, and, by extension, the five of Southwark. Such theological jurisdictions still subsist in England, and do good service. In December, 1868, by sentence of the Court of Arches, confirmed by the decision of the Privy Council, the Reverend Mackonochie was censured, besides being condemned in costs, for having placed lighted candles on a table. The liturgy allows no jokes.