XXIV

“Gentlemen,” said Martial in a faltering voice, nervously twisting the piece of paper, “this piece of paper has been put into my hands much against my will [‘Speak up!’]⁠—much against my will. [‘Throw it down then!’] It contains the words in which I am to second the resolution. But I really feel⁠—I do not wish⁠—I am in an awkward position [‘Go home to bed!’], you must understand. [‘Yah! Open your mouth,’ from the opposition. Hear, hear! ‘Let him speak! Fair play⁠—fair play!’ from the tenant-farmers.] My private opinions, then, are not⁠—are not⁠—I [Hear, hear!⁠—hoo, hoo! ‘Why can’t you say what you mean?’] So I will, gentlemen,” said Martial, his face flushed, and his temper rising and overcoming his nervousness; “I will do as that gentleman recommends, I will say what I mean, which is the best thing to do after all. We have just listened to a long and I suppose we must call it an eloquent speech [hear, hear!], the burden of which was the great advantage we all derive⁠—and especially agriculturists like myself⁠—from the interest taken in us by Mr. Cornleigh, [Hear, hear!⁠—hear, hear! from the tenant-farmers.] I suppose you all know I am a farmer. I will now give you a fact⁠—not a speech but a fact⁠—in illustration, or rather as a practical comment upon that eloquent speech. [Hear, hear!⁠—hear, hear! from the tenant-farmers.] Gentlemen, this afternoon before I entered this hall I posted a letter formally stating that I intended⁠—that I was compelled⁠—to give up my farm [sensation], and of course that will be followed by a sale by auction of my stock and effects. Gentlemen, I am ruined. Gentlemen, I do not believe I shall have fifty pounds over when the auction takes place. I beg you to receive this as a practical comment upon the eloquent speech to which you have just listened. [Hear, hear!⁠—cheers from the opposition; tenant-farmers in dead silence; whispering on the platform.] You will now understand why I shrank from seconding a resolution to the terms of which I could not conscientiously subscribe. [Hear, hear!⁠—opposition cheers.] But as it has been forced upon me, I feel entitled to speak out. [‘Goon⁠—go on!⁠—hurrah!’ tremendous opposition applause; dead silence among the tenant-farmers; agitation on the platform.] It was well⁠—it was appropriate⁠—it was fitting that the eloquent speech we have just heard should have been addressed to you by a person interested in maintaining a subsidised falsehood [shouts of applause from the opposition]⁠—by a person interested in maintaining that huge octopus, the Church⁠—that huge octopus which saps with its innumerable suckers the strength out of the land. It was well and it was fitting that the Church which takes our substance in its tithes should eloquently support the landowner who takes our substance in rent. [Frantic applause from the opposition; hoots and yells from the tenant-farmers; another great push for the platform; free fights; Robert Godwin conferring with the solicitor, Cornleigh’s prompter.] Gentlemen, for long years past we have been suffering heavy losses from various causes which fall under two divisions, prominent in the first division being the inclement seasons and the enormous competition of America; for these no man is responsible, and I lay no blame at any man’s door. In the second division of the causes which have increased the depression, there stands out in strong relief the high and disproportionate rents which we were compelled to pay in seasons of prosperity. There stands out in strong relief the tithes which in seasons of prosperity and adversity alike we have been compelled to pay to the Church. These two together are more than equal to the incidence of competition and the failure of sunshine. In our years of prosperity the landlord forced from us the last shilling, so that we were unable to lay by savings for the future. When times of adversity came we had no reserve to meet them with. Tardily, very tardily, the landlord has at length somewhat lowered his rent, but this relief has come too late; slight in itself, grudgingly given, it is too late. [Hear, hear! from the opposition.] But if the landlord has at last, under irresistible pressure⁠—bear this in mind, under irresistible pressure and not from any benevolence⁠—if at last he has reduced his rent, the Church has not reduced its rent. No, not one penny⁠—not one penny⁠—after all that it has received from the tenant-farmers in years gone by, the subscriptions, the moral and physical support⁠—in our distress this Church, which preaches kindness and consideration for others, has not abated one single penny, but has taken from our sides its pound of flesh. [Shouts from the opposition; shouts from the tenant-farmers, and indescribable uproar. Robert Godwin advanced and put his hand on Martial’s shoulder, but Cornleigh’s solicitor drew him back.] I repeat, its pound of flesh; for there are men whom I know, men with families, with growing sons and daughters, and with little children who have been forced, first to partially starve themselves and their children, and finally to go forth penniless into the world. Let me ask you whether we ought to feel grateful? [Uproar and fighting. ‘Pull him down!’ from the tenant-farmers; ‘Go on!’ from the opposition.] Gentlemen, I do not hesitate to denounce the whole system as a cruel farce. [‘Pull him down!’ from the tenants.] We have often, very often, at our public dinners and meetings, heard persons get up and make eloquent speeches, attributing every species of benevolence to our landlords and to our landlords’ agents. [‘Robert Godwin!’ hoo, hoo, hoo! from the opposition.] The truth, as we all know, is exactly the reverse. In return for our loyalty they have oppressed us, and, I will add, they have insulted us in every possible manner. We have been less than dogs [‘Pull him down!’ from the tenant-farmers]; we have been expected to cringe with our hats off [hiss, hiss! from the tenant-farmers: ‘Let him speak!’ ‘Fair play; fair play!’ from the opposition]; we have been expected to look down humbly and to be only too thankful to be noticed, like a dog you pat with your hand [hoo, hoo, hoo! from the tenant-farmers. Angry cries from the opposition: ‘Let him speak, or we’ll drive everyone off the platform!’]; we have been expected to kowtow to our landlords, and not only to them, but to all their agents, friends, and hangers-on; to stand hat in hand before their parsons, and before their solicitors, and before their stewards, and before their gardeners and their gamekeepers⁠—before their very grooms! I deeply regret to say⁠—the truth is forced from me⁠—gentlemen, I deeply regret to own to you that a very large proportion of farmers have consented to this kowtowing, this hat-touching, this contemptible humility. [Yells from the tenant-farmers, who made an effort to tear Barnard from the platform, but were pulled back by the opposition: fighting and hard blows exchanged; at length comparative quiet.] The very memory of it fills me with disgust; such servility has probably never been equalled on the part of free men⁠—such servility as that exhibited by the mass of farmers to their landlord’s circle, down to his very gardener! But why was there this servility? Does anyone suppose that farmers humiliated themselves in this manner of their own free will? No, indeed. The guilt⁠—for it is nothing less than guilt⁠—lies with the landlords, who, through their agents, forced us to this infamy. [Hear, hear! from the Opposition; cheers and counter-cheers.] I say “guilt,” because it is a criminal thing to force a man to part with his own self-respect. [Cheers and uproar.] Either bow the knee and touch the hat⁠—either do as we bid you, vote as we please, give up your very conscience⁠—either bow the knee and touch your hat or leave your farm. [‘Shame!’ cheers and yelling.] We have been asked by a clergyman in an eloquent speech to acknowledge the advantages we have derived from a landlord. I ask you again whether you think we have reason to be grateful? [‘No, no!’ cheers; hoo-hooing from the tenant-farmers.] Gentlemen, I cannot express my astonishment that a member of a Church which professes to hold a falsehood as an abomination [cheers] can have the cool assurance to stand here in the light of day and deliver statements so absolutely at variance with fact. [Agitation on the platform; Robert Godwin held back by the solicitor.] I tell you⁠—and you are, most of you, aware of the fact yourselves⁠—that there does not exist a race of free men on the face of the earth who have been so completely under the thumb as farmers. There are many tenants of Mr. Cornleigh’s here this afternoon. There is not one of these who would dare, were voting not now secret under the Ballot Act, to vote contrary to Mr. Cornleigh’s wishes. [Uproar⁠—savage blows exchanged; Robert Godwin seizes Martial by the shoulder; excited cries, “Let him alone⁠—let him speak!” Martial shakes Robert off roughly.] You see how much liberty⁠—you see we should not be allowed even to speak! [Cheers.] Till the Ballot Act was passed not a farmer dared to vote contrary to his landlord’s opinion; I warn you all that the Ballot Act is not perfect; the secrets of voting are allowed to leak out, and pressure is still put on. I warn you of this! I say that the man who discloses the secret of another man’s vote, deserves as severe a punishment as is awarded to perjury. [Hear, hear! from the opposition; uproar from the tenant-farmers.] We hear very much nowadays of this or that landlord having reduced rent, or having returned ten, twenty, or thirty percent, at audit. This is generous indeed, is it not? For the very same land has fallen in value fifty percent. — an acre that was worth £70 is now hardly worth £35, and in fact you cannot get a purchaser at all. What better proof could there be that the letting value must have depreciated equally? We know that the trade and commerce of this country are declining; it is traced to the depression of farming, and who is responsible for the depression of farming? [Shouts of ‘Cornleigh, Cornleigh!’] Now let us kowtow and bend the knee and touch the hat to our landlords’ grooms and gardeners, stewards, solicitors, agents, and sycophants. [Uproar.] We hear now of landlords seeking tenants; using every blandishment, offering every advantage⁠—even the shooting⁠—fancy, permission to shoot!⁠—lowering rents, and doing everything possible to attract tenants now they find their rent-rolls diminishing and their cash disappearing. Was there ever anything more despicable? To grind us and oppress us, to insult us and ride over us in their time of prosperity; and now to fawn on us and treat us as equals, to beckon to us, and to hope to get over us with such manifestations of affection! [Cheers from the opposition; groans from the tenant-farmers.] The whole thing is a farce, a disgraceful farce and national shame [cheers, met with frantic yelling from the farmers]; a disgraceful farce⁠—I am disgusted with it⁠—I see you are disgusted with it⁠—every man of commonsense in the country is disgusted with it. There never will be any more prosperity in English agriculture till the entire system is revised; till a man can cultivate the land free from vexatious hindrances, medieval hindrances, superstitious hindrances, and burdens such as tithes, ordinary and extraordinary; till there be nothing to contend against but the seasons and the honest competition of the United States. I am thankful to say I have done with it. To me it is not so serious a matter as it is to many. I am young; I can work [cheers from the opposition]; if need be, I can emigrate to those United States. But it is a bitter thing to older men thus forced from their homesteads. To me, too, it will be a bitter thing to quit the old home where I was born, where my father lived, where my grandfather lived, with which all my associations are bound up; but there will be one great compensation for me⁠—from this afternoon I have done with the landlord’s agent; I have done with the steward, with the solicitor, with the parson, with the gardener and the gamekeeper; I have done with the groom, and the whole circle of despicable sycophants!”

Tremendous cheering and groaning, in the midst of which Martial got off the platform into the crowd. Felise drew her breath, for to her it seemed that in the surging mass he was knocked to and fro like a tennis-ball. The opposition helped him towards the door; the tenant-farmers pushed and struggled and struck to crush him, hooting their loudest at the man who had expressed the very thoughts in their own hearts. He got out at last without hurt, having lost his hat; his coat, having been torn open violently, was split. At the foot of the gallery staircase he found Mr. Goring and Felise; he had to buy a new hat before they started for Beechknoll. The meeting continued for some time, and several speeches were made; but the testimonial was declared to be voted unanimously.

“It is the first time the truth has been spoken in Maasbury since⁠—since the Crusades,” said Mr. Goring, as they drove homewards. “Did you notice Cornleigh?”

“I never thought of him⁠—personally,” said Martial. “It was the whole system I thought of.”

“Well, there he sat demurely all the time, with that faint scarce perceptible smile on his face. I wonder whether it is conceit or stupidity⁠—his hands folded, and looking down in the same innocent manner as if it did not concern him in the least?”

“Are you quite sure you are not hurt?” said Felise.

“My shoulder is bruised a little⁠—nothing else.”

Presently they saw in the distance the village church by which Mary Shaw was buried.

“Could there be anything more grotesque⁠—more hideous in its mockery?” said Mr. Goring, “than to hang up pictures in cottages, and Mary lying there for want of a home?”