Canon Excerpt #9: The Parish Bull
'Lord, Stephen,' she said, returning, 'I am so sorry to have inflicted such a boring dinner-party on you. You have enough to bear as it is. But at least now we can talk.'
She talked with the absolute openness and freedom that Stephen had so envied, for there at her side, as she supposed, was the loving receptive ear: and certainly he listened with grave attention and concern. His friendship for her was quite intact, and it contained a large element of tenderness.
Her relationship with Johnson had been uneasy from the start: even if it had not been for the interminable business of his divorce their connection could never have lasted - he was violent, dangerous, and he could be perfectly ruthless; at ordinary times he was ill-tempered, far too rich for his own good; he was a philanderer, and his behaviour to his blacks was revolting.
'I suppose the actual sight, the daily experience, of slavery must be very hard to bear,' said Stephen, 'particularly on the industrial scale of a large plantation.'
'Oh, as for that,' said she, shrugging, 'it seems to me natural enough: there were quantities of them in India, you know. I should have said his black women. Any number of the mulatto children about the house in Maryland were his, and the older ones were his half-brothers or -sisters; and there were a couple of octaroon girls, cousins I dare say, who looked at me in such an odiously familiar, knowing way - I could not bear it - I felt like something that had been bought. The fellow was a perfect parish bull.'
'The parish bull slumbers in most of us, I fear.'
'It never slumbers in Johnson at any moment, I do assure you. And at the same time he is absurdly jealous, a perfect Turk. All he lacks is a beard and a turban and scimitar,' she said, with a ghost of her old smile. 'None of the black girls he has tossed the handkerchief to is ever allowed to marry, and he made me such scenes for talking to another man that you would never believe. I really think he would kill me and you too if he saw me do this.' She laid her hand affectionately on his. 'My God, Maturin,' she said, pressing it, 'what a relief it is to have somebody you can really trust and rely upon.'
It was after one of these scenes that she left him and came to London. He followed her: he was good, quiet, kind, full of promises of reform; he showed her lawyers' letters that made it seem that his divorce was very near. 'And he gave me these diamonds,' she said, unclasping the necklace and tossing it on to the couch, where it blazed and glittered like a phosphorescent wake. 'They were his mother's, and he had them reset. The big one in the middle is called the [Blue Peter]. I suppose it is disgraceful to admit that they had an influence on me, but they did. Perhaps most women like diamonds.'
It was in London, or rather in their precipitate flight from London, that she learnt that Johnson was connected with American intelligence: but even then she had never imagined for a moment that what he did was in any way directed against England - she thought it was to do with stocks and shares and government funds in Europe, particularly as at that time there was a general idea that the United States would go to war with France. He terrified her, however, by saying that she was implicated, that Government would take her up and hang her for having passed papers on to Louisa Wogan, so like a fool she agreed to go back with him to America. She had received letters for Louisa, and she had passed them on; but she had thought it was only an intrigue until Louisa was arrested and she herself was taken to the Home Office and questioned for hours on end. She lost her head and ran off with Johnson.
It was the silliest thing she had ever done in her life. There she was in an enemy country, and the fellow had the infernal effrontery to expect her to help him in his work against her own people, and to be pleased when Royal Navy ships were taken. 'Oh, it went to my heart, Stephen, straight to my heart. Every one of those frigates we were so proud of, and there were three of them, without a single victory; and the Americans do so crow. And I see English officers walking about, prisoners of war: it is unspeakable.'
'Did you not become an American citizen?'
'Oh, I signed some foolish papers, because they said it would make the divorce easier, but how could a miserable bit of paper make any difference? Johnson is a very clever man, but sometimes he can be unbelievably stupid - to expect the daughter of a soldier who served the King all his life, brought up among soldiers, married to a soldier, to work against her own country! Perhaps he thinks he is Adonis and Byron and Croesus all rolled into one and no woman can resist him: he still thinks he can persuade me, because I write some of his letters to the Frenchmen. But he never shall, never, never, never!'
'Is his work important?'
'Yes. I was amazed. I thought he was just a rich man fooling about, a dilettante; but not at all. He is perfectly passionate about it - spends far more money than the government gives him - sold an outlying plantation in Virginia only last month. He advises the Secretary of State, and he has a whole swarm of people working under him. Louisa Wogan was one of them, and will be again. Oh, Stephen, I cannot bear it. I am desperate. How can I get out?'
He stood up, walked to the window, and stood there with his hands behind his back, staring down the balcony at the workmen. Her account was perfectly true: she was candid, but not entirely so - she said nothing about the fact that she was utterly at a loss, finding herself in the position of a woman who is being if not discarded then at least supplanted. Hitherto it had been she who gave the dismissal and the new role was beyond her; and she was so very much distressed, so deeply disturbed, that her intuition gave her no hint of his present state of heart. Then again, she was certainly afraid of Johnson. Her position was indeed quite desperate.
Turning he said, 'Listen, my dear. You must marry me: that will make you a British subject again, so that you can return to England. Jack and I are to be exchanged in a day or so, and you will come back with us as my wife. It will be a purely nominal marriage, a marriage blanc, if you wish.'
'Oh, Stephen,' she cried, springing up with such a look of gratitude and trust and affection that it filled his heart with guilt and remorse, 'I knew I could always rely on you.' She embraced him, pressing him close, and he concealed his lack of physical emotion by pressing her closer still.
She talked with the absolute openness and freedom that Stephen had so envied, for there at her side, as she supposed, was the loving receptive ear: and certainly he listened with grave attention and concern. His friendship for her was quite intact, and it contained a large element of tenderness.
Her relationship with Johnson had been uneasy from the start: even if it had not been for the interminable business of his divorce their connection could never have lasted - he was violent, dangerous, and he could be perfectly ruthless; at ordinary times he was ill-tempered, far too rich for his own good; he was a philanderer, and his behaviour to his blacks was revolting.
'I suppose the actual sight, the daily experience, of slavery must be very hard to bear,' said Stephen, 'particularly on the industrial scale of a large plantation.'
'Oh, as for that,' said she, shrugging, 'it seems to me natural enough: there were quantities of them in India, you know. I should have said his black women. Any number of the mulatto children about the house in Maryland were his, and the older ones were his half-brothers or -sisters; and there were a couple of octaroon girls, cousins I dare say, who looked at me in such an odiously familiar, knowing way - I could not bear it - I felt like something that had been bought. The fellow was a perfect parish bull.'
'The parish bull slumbers in most of us, I fear.'
'It never slumbers in Johnson at any moment, I do assure you. And at the same time he is absurdly jealous, a perfect Turk. All he lacks is a beard and a turban and scimitar,' she said, with a ghost of her old smile. 'None of the black girls he has tossed the handkerchief to is ever allowed to marry, and he made me such scenes for talking to another man that you would never believe. I really think he would kill me and you too if he saw me do this.' She laid her hand affectionately on his. 'My God, Maturin,' she said, pressing it, 'what a relief it is to have somebody you can really trust and rely upon.'
It was after one of these scenes that she left him and came to London. He followed her: he was good, quiet, kind, full of promises of reform; he showed her lawyers' letters that made it seem that his divorce was very near. 'And he gave me these diamonds,' she said, unclasping the necklace and tossing it on to the couch, where it blazed and glittered like a phosphorescent wake. 'They were his mother's, and he had them reset. The big one in the middle is called the [Blue Peter]. I suppose it is disgraceful to admit that they had an influence on me, but they did. Perhaps most women like diamonds.'
It was in London, or rather in their precipitate flight from London, that she learnt that Johnson was connected with American intelligence: but even then she had never imagined for a moment that what he did was in any way directed against England - she thought it was to do with stocks and shares and government funds in Europe, particularly as at that time there was a general idea that the United States would go to war with France. He terrified her, however, by saying that she was implicated, that Government would take her up and hang her for having passed papers on to Louisa Wogan, so like a fool she agreed to go back with him to America. She had received letters for Louisa, and she had passed them on; but she had thought it was only an intrigue until Louisa was arrested and she herself was taken to the Home Office and questioned for hours on end. She lost her head and ran off with Johnson.
It was the silliest thing she had ever done in her life. There she was in an enemy country, and the fellow had the infernal effrontery to expect her to help him in his work against her own people, and to be pleased when Royal Navy ships were taken. 'Oh, it went to my heart, Stephen, straight to my heart. Every one of those frigates we were so proud of, and there were three of them, without a single victory; and the Americans do so crow. And I see English officers walking about, prisoners of war: it is unspeakable.'
'Did you not become an American citizen?'
'Oh, I signed some foolish papers, because they said it would make the divorce easier, but how could a miserable bit of paper make any difference? Johnson is a very clever man, but sometimes he can be unbelievably stupid - to expect the daughter of a soldier who served the King all his life, brought up among soldiers, married to a soldier, to work against her own country! Perhaps he thinks he is Adonis and Byron and Croesus all rolled into one and no woman can resist him: he still thinks he can persuade me, because I write some of his letters to the Frenchmen. But he never shall, never, never, never!'
'Is his work important?'
'Yes. I was amazed. I thought he was just a rich man fooling about, a dilettante; but not at all. He is perfectly passionate about it - spends far more money than the government gives him - sold an outlying plantation in Virginia only last month. He advises the Secretary of State, and he has a whole swarm of people working under him. Louisa Wogan was one of them, and will be again. Oh, Stephen, I cannot bear it. I am desperate. How can I get out?'
He stood up, walked to the window, and stood there with his hands behind his back, staring down the balcony at the workmen. Her account was perfectly true: she was candid, but not entirely so - she said nothing about the fact that she was utterly at a loss, finding herself in the position of a woman who is being if not discarded then at least supplanted. Hitherto it had been she who gave the dismissal and the new role was beyond her; and she was so very much distressed, so deeply disturbed, that her intuition gave her no hint of his present state of heart. Then again, she was certainly afraid of Johnson. Her position was indeed quite desperate.
Turning he said, 'Listen, my dear. You must marry me: that will make you a British subject again, so that you can return to England. Jack and I are to be exchanged in a day or so, and you will come back with us as my wife. It will be a purely nominal marriage, a marriage blanc, if you wish.'
'Oh, Stephen,' she cried, springing up with such a look of gratitude and trust and affection that it filled his heart with guilt and remorse, 'I knew I could always rely on you.' She embraced him, pressing him close, and he concealed his lack of physical emotion by pressing her closer still.