the vicar devoted a week to the consideration of his grievance about the chapel, and then did write to the marquis. indeed, there was no time to be lost if he intended to do anything, as on the second day after his interview with mr. grimes, grimes himself, with two men to assist him, began their measuring on the devoted spot, sticking in little marks for the corners of the projected building, and turning up a sod here and there. mr. grimes was a staunch churchman; and though in the way of business he was very glad to have the building of a methodist chapel,—or of a pagan temple, if such might come in his way,—yet, even though he possibly might give some offence to the great man’s shadow in bullhampton, he was willing to postpone his work for two or three days at the vicar’s request. “grimes,” the vicar said, “i’m not quite sure that i like this.”
“well, sir;—no, sir. i was thinking myself, sir, that maybe you might take it unkind in the marquis.”
“i think i shall write to him. perhaps you wouldn’t mind giving over for a day or two.” grimes yielded at once, and took his spade and measurements away, although mr. puddleham fretted a good deal. mr. puddleham had been much elated by the prospect of his new bethel, and had, it must be confessed, received into his mind an idea that it would be a good thing to quarrel with the vicar under the auspices of the landlord. fenwick’s character had hitherto been too strong for him, and he had been forced into parochial quiescence and religious amity almost in spite of his conscience. he was a much older man than mr. fenwick, having been for thirty years in the ministry, and he had always previously enjoyed the privilege of being on bad terms with the clergyman of the establishment. it had been his glory to be a poacher on another man’s manor, to filch souls, as it were, out of the keeping of a pastor of a higher grade than himself, to say severe things of the short comings of an endowed clergyman, and to obtain recognition of his position by the activity of his operations in the guise of a blister. our vicar, understanding something of this, had, with some malice towards the gentleman himself, determined to rob mr. puddleham of his blistering powers. there is no doubt a certain pleasure in poaching which does not belong to the licit following of game; but a man can’t poach if the right of shooting be accorded to him. mr. puddleham had not been quite happy in his mind amidst the ease and amiable relations which mr. fenwick enforced upon him, and had long since begun to feel that a few cabbages and peaches did not repay him for the loss of those pleasant and bitter things, which it would have been his to say in his daily walks and from the pulpit of his salem, had he not been thus hampered, confined, and dominated. hitherto he had hardly gained a single soul from under mr. fenwick’s grasp,—had indeed on the balance lost his grasp on souls, and was beginning to be aware that this was so because of the cabbages and the peaches. he told himself that though he had not hankered after these flesh-pots, that though he would have preferred to be without the flesh-pots, he had submitted to them. he was painfully conscious of the guile of this young man, who had, as it were, cheated him out of that appropriate acerbity of religion, without which a proselyting sect can hardly maintain its ground beneath the shadow of an endowed and domineering church. war was necessary to mr. puddleham. he had come to be hardly anybody at all, because he was at peace with the vicar of the parish in which he was established. his eyes had been becoming gradually open to all this for years; and when he had been present at the bitter quarrel between the vicar and the marquis, he had at once told himself that now was his opportunity. he had intended to express a clear opinion to mr. fenwick that he, mr. fenwick, had been very wrong in speaking to the marquis as he had spoken, and as he was walking out of the farm-house he was preparing some words as to the respect due to those in authority. it happened, however, that at that moment the wind was taken out of his sails by a strange comparison which the vicar made to him between the sins of them two, ministers of god as they were, and the sins of carry brattle. mr. puddleham at the moment had been cowed and quelled. he was not quite able to carry himself in the vicar’s presence as though he were the vicar’s equal. but the desire for a quarrel remained, and when it was suggested to him by mr. packer, the marquis’s man of business, that the green opposite to the vicarage gate would be a convenient site for his chapel, and that the marquis was ready to double his before-proffered subscription, then he saw plainly that the moment had come, and that it was fitting that he should gird up his loins and return all future cabbages to the proud donor.
mr. puddleham had his eye keenly set on the scene of his future ministration, and was aware of grimes’s default almost as soon as that man with his myrmidons had left the ground. he at once went to grimes with heavy denunciations, with threats of the marquis, and with urgent explanation as to the necessity of instant work. but grimes was obdurate. the vicar had asked him to leave the work for a day or two, and of course he must do what the vicar asked. if he couldn’t be allowed to do as much as that for the vicar of the parish, bullhampton wouldn’t be, in mr. grimes’s opinion, any place for anybody to live in. mr. puddleham argued the matter out, but he argued in vain. mr. grimes declared that there was time enough, and that he would have the work finished by the time fixed,—unless, indeed, the marquis should change his mind. mr. puddleham regarded this as a most improbable supposition. “the marquis doesn’t change his mind, mr. grimes,” he said; and then he walked forth from mr. grimes’s house with much offence.
by this time all bullhampton knew of the quarrel,—knew of it, although mr. fenwick had been so very careful to guard himself from any quarrelling at all. he had not spoken a word in anger on the subject to anyone but his wife; and in making his request to grimes had done so with hypocritical good humour. but, nevertheless, he was aware that the parish was becoming hot about it; and when he sat down to write his letter to the marquis he was almost minded to give up the idea of writing, to return to grimes, and to allow the measuring and sod-turning to be continued. why should a place of worship opposite to his gate be considered by him as an injury? why should the psalm-singing of christian brethren hurt his ears as he walked about his garden? and if, through the infirmity of his nature, his eyes and his ears were hurt, what was that to the great purport for which he had been sent into the parish? was he not about to create enmity by his opposition; and was it not his special duty to foster love and goodwill among his people? after all he, within his own vicarage grounds, had all that it was intended that he should possess; and that he held very firmly. poor mr. puddleham had no such firm holding; and why should he quarrel with mr. puddleham because that ill-paid preacher sought to strengthen the ground on which his salem stood?
as he paused, however, to think of all this, there came upon him the conviction that in this thing that was to be done the marquis was determined to punish him personally, and he could not resist the temptation of fighting the marquis. and then, if he succumbed easily in this matter, would it not follow almost as a matter of course that the battle against him would be carried on elsewhere? if he yielded now, resolving to ignore altogether any idea of his own comfort or his own taste, would he thereby maintain that tranquillity in his parish which he thought so desirable? he had already seen that in mr. puddleham’s manner to himself which made him sure that mr. puddleham was ambitious to be a sword in the right hand of the marquis. personally the vicar was himself pugnacious. few men, perhaps, were more so. if there must be a fight let them come on, and he would do his best. turning the matter thus backwards and forwards in his mind, he came at last to the conclusion that there must be a fight, and consequently he wrote the following letter to the marquis;—
bullhampton vicarage, january 3, 186—.
my lord marquis,
i learned by chance the other day in the village that a new chapel for the use of the methodist congregation of the parish was to be built on the little open green immediately opposite the vicarage gate, and that this special spot of ground had been selected and given by your lordship for this purpose. i do not at all know what truth there may be in this,—except that mr. grimes, the carpenter here, has received orders from your agent about the work. it may probably be the case that the site has been chosen by mr. packer, and not by your lordship. as no real delay to the building can at this time of the year arise from a short postponement of the beginning, i have asked mr. grimes to desist till i shall have written to you on the subject.
i can assure your lordship, in the first place, that no clergyman of the established church in the kingdom can be less unwilling than i am that they who dissent from my teaching in the parish should have a commodious place of worship. if land belonged to me in the place i would give it myself for such a purpose; and were there no other available site than that chosen, i would not for a moment remonstrate against it. i had heard, with satisfaction, from mr. puddleham himself that another spot was chosen near the cross roads in the village, on which there is more space, to which as i believe there is no objection, and which would certainly be nearer than that now selected to the majority of the congregation.
but of course it would not be for me to trouble your lordship as to the ground on which a methodist chapel should be built, unless i had reason to show why the site now chosen is objectionable. i do not for a moment question your lordship’s right to give the site. there is something less than a quarter of an acre in the patch in question; and though hitherto i have always regarded it as belonging in some sort to the vicarage,—as being a part, as it were, of the entrance,—i feel convinced that you, as landlord of the ground, would not entertain the idea of bestowing it for any purpose without being sure of your right to do so. i raise no question on this point, believing that there is none to be raised; but i respectfully submit to your lordship, whether such an erection as that contemplated by you will not be a lasting injury to the vicarage of bullhampton, and whether you would wish to inflict a lasting and gratuitous injury on the vicar of a parish, the greatest portion of which belongs to yourself.
no doubt life will be very possible to me and my wife, and to succeeding vicars and their wives, with a red-brick chapel built as a kind of watch-tower over the vicarage gate. so would life be possible at turnover park with a similar edifice immediately before your lordship’s hall-door. knowing very well that the reasonable wants of the methodists cannot make such a building on such a spot necessary, you no doubt would not consent to it; and i now venture to ask you to put a stop to this building here for the same reason. were there no other site in the parish equally commodious i would not say a word.
i have the honour to be,
your lordship’s most obedient servant,
francis fenwick.
lord trowbridge, when he received this letter,—when he had only partially read it, and had not at all digested it, was disposed to yield the point. he was a silly man, thinking much too highly of his own position, believing himself entitled to unlimited deference from all those who in any way came within the rays of his magnificence, and easily made angry by opposition; but he was not naturally prone to inflict evil, and did in some degree recognise it as a duty attached to his splendour that he should be beneficent to the inferiors with whom he was connected. great as was his wrath against the present vicar of bullhampton, and thoroughly as he conceived it to be expedient that so evil-minded a pastor should be driven out of the parish, nevertheless he felt some scruple at taking a step which would be injurious to the parish vicar, let the parish vicar be who he might. packer was the sinner who had originated the new plan for punishing mr. fenwick,—packer, with the assistance of mr. puddleham; and the marquis, though he had in some sort authorised the plan, had in truth thought very little about it. when the vicar spoke of the lasting injury to the vicarage, and when lord trowbridge remembered that he owned two thousand and two acres within the parish,—as mr. puddleham had told him,—he began to think that the chapel had better be built elsewhere. the vicar was a pestilent man to whom punishment was due, but the punishment should be made to attach itself to the man, rather than to the man’s office. so was working the marquis’s mind, till the marquis came upon that horrid passage in the vicar’s letter, in which it was suggested that the building of a methodist chapel in his own park, immediately in front of his own august hall-door might under certain circumstances be expedient. the remark was almost as pernicious and unpardonable as that which had been made about his lordship’s daughters. it was manifest to him that the vicar intended to declare that marquises were no more than other people,—and that the declaration was made and insisted on with the determination of insulting him. had this apostate priest been capable of feeling any proper appreciation of his own position and that of the marquis, he would have said nothing of turnover park. when the marquis had read the letter a second time and had digested it he perceived that its whole tenour was bad, that the writer was evil-minded, and that no request made by him should be granted. even though the obnoxious chapel should have to be pulled down for the benefit of another vicar, it should be put up for the punishment of this vicar. a man who wants to have a favour done for him, can hardly hope to be successful if he asks for the favour with insolence. so the heart of the marquis was hardened, and he was strengthened to do that which misbecame him both as a gentleman and a landlord.
he did not answer the letter for some time; but he saw packer, saw his head agent, and got out the map of the property. the map of the property was not very clear in the matter, but he remembered the space well, and convinced himself that no other place in all bullhampton could be so appropriate for a methodist chapel. at the end of a week he caused a reply to be written to mr. fenwick. he would not demean himself by writing with his own hand, but he gave his orders to the head agent. the head agent merely informed the vicar that it was considered that the spot of ground in question was the most appropriate in the village for the purpose in hand.
mrs. fenwick when she heard the reply burst out into tears. she was a woman by no means over devoted to things of this world, who thought much of her duties and did them, who would have sacrificed anything for her husband and children, who had learned the fact that both little troubles and great, if borne with patience, may be borne with ease; but she did think much of her house, was proud of her garden, and rejoiced in the external prettiness of her surroundings. it was gall to her that this hideous building should be so placed as to destroy the comeliness of that side of her abode. “we shall hear their singing and ranting whenever we open our front windows,” she said.
“then we won’t open them,” said the vicar.
“we can’t help ourselves. just see what it will be whenever we go in and out. we might just as well have it inside the house at once.”
“you speak as though mr. puddleham were always in his pulpit.”
“they’re always doing something,—and then the building will be there whether it’s open or shut. it will alter the parish altogether, and i really think it will be better that you should get an exchange.”
“and run away from my enemy?”
“it would be running away from an intolerable nuisance.”
“i won’t do that,” said the vicar. “if there were no other reason for staying, i won’t put it in the power of the marquis of trowbridge to say that he has turned me out of my parish, and so punished me because i have not submitted myself to him. i have not sought the quarrel. he has been overbearing and insolent, and now is meanly desirous to injure me because i will not suffer his insolence. no doubt, placed as he is, he can do much; but he cannot turn me out of bullhampton.”
“what is the good of staying, frank, if we are to be made wretched?”
“we won’t be made wretched. what! be wretched because there is an ugly building opposite to your outside gate? it is almost wicked to say so. i don’t like it. i like the doing of the thing less even than the thing itself. if it can be stopped, i will stop it. if it could be prevented by any amount of fighting, i should think myself right to fight in such a cause. if i can see my way to doing anything to oppose the marquis, it shall be done. but i won’t run away.” mrs. fenwick said nothing more on the subject at that moment, but she felt that the glory and joy of the vicarage were gone from it.
