Middlemarch by George Eliot (ebook and pdf reader TXT) 📕

stick afresh at opposing arguments as they turned up in his memory, gave Will Ladislaw much trouble.

“You know there are tactics in these things,” said Mr. Brooke; “meeting people halfway⁠—tempering your ideas⁠—saying, ‘Well now, there’s something in that,’ and so on. I agree with you that this is a peculiar occasion⁠—the country with a will of its own⁠—political unions⁠—that sort of thing⁠—but we sometimes cut with rather too sharp a knife, Ladislaw. These ten-pound householders, now: why ten? Draw the line somewhere⁠—yes: but why just at ten? That’s a difficult question, now, if you go into it.”

“Of course it is,” said Will, impatiently. “But if you are to wait till we get a logical Bill, you must put yourself forward as a revolutionist, and then Middlemarch would not elect you, I fancy. As for trimming, this is not a time for trimming.”

Mr. Brooke always ended by agreeing with Ladislaw, who still appeared to him a sort of Burke with a leaven of Shelley; but after an interval the wisdom of his own methods reasserted itself, and he was again drawn into using them with much hopefulness. At this stage of affairs he was in excellent spirits, which even supported him under large advances of money; for his powers of convincing and persuading had not yet been tested by anything more difficult than a chairman’s speech introducing other orators, or a dialogue with a Middlemarch voter, from which he came away with a sense that he was a tactician by nature, and that it was a pity he had not gone earlier into this kind of thing. He was a little conscious of defeat, however, with Mr. Mawmsey, a chief representative in Middlemarch of that great social power, the retail trader, and naturally one of the most doubtful voters in the borough⁠—willing for his own part to supply an equal quality of teas and sugars to reformer and anti-reformer, as well as to agree impartially with both, and feeling like the burgesses of old that this necessity of electing members was a great burden to a town; for even if there were no danger in holding out hopes to all parties beforehand, there would be the painful necessity at last of disappointing respectable people whose names were on his books. He was accustomed to receive large orders from Mr. Brooke of Tipton; but then, there were many of Pinkerton’s committee whose opinions had a great weight of grocery on their side. Mr. Mawmsey thinking that Mr. Brooke, as not too “clever in his intellects,” was the more likely to forgive a grocer who gave a hostile vote under pressure, had become confidential in his back parlor.

“As to Reform, sir, put it in a family light,” he said, rattling the small silver in his pocket, and smiling affably. “Will it support Mrs. Mawmsey, and enable her to bring up six children when I am no more? I put the question fictiously, knowing what must be the answer. Very well, sir. I ask you what, as a husband and a father, I am to do when gentlemen come to me and say, ‘Do as you like, Mawmsey; but if you vote against us, I shall get my groceries elsewhere: when I sugar my liquor I like to feel that I am benefiting the country by maintaining tradesmen of the right color.’ Those very words have been spoken to me, sir, in the very chair where you are now sitting. I don’t mean by your honorable self, Mr. Brooke.”

“No, no, no⁠—that’s narrow, you know. Until my butler complains to me of your goods, Mr. Mawmsey,” said Mr. Brooke, soothingly, “until I hear that you send bad sugars, spices⁠—that sort of thing⁠—I shall never order him to go elsewhere.”

“Sir, I am your humble servant, and greatly obliged,” said Mr. Mawmsey, feeling that politics were clearing up a little. “There would be some pleasure in voting for a gentleman who speaks in that honorable manner.”

“Well, you know, Mr. Mawmsey, you would find it the right thing to put yourself on our side. This Reform will touch everybody by-and-by⁠—a thoroughly popular measure⁠—a sort of A, B, C, you know, that must come first before the rest can follow. I quite agree with you that you’ve got to look at the thing in a family light: but public spirit, now. We’re all one family, you know⁠—it’s all one cupboard. Such a thing as a vote, now: why, it may help to make men’s fortunes at the Cape⁠—there’s no knowing what may be the effect of a vote,” Mr. Brooke ended, with a sense of being a little out at sea, though finding it still enjoyable. But Mr. Mawmsey answered in a tone of decisive check.

“I beg your pardon, sir, but I can’t afford that. When I give a vote I must know what I am doing; I must look to what will be the effects on my till and ledger, speaking respectfully. Prices, I’ll admit, are what nobody can know the merits of; and the sudden falls after you’ve bought in currants, which are a goods that will not keep⁠—I’ve never; myself seen into the ins and outs there; which is a rebuke to human pride. But as to one family, there’s debtor and creditor, I hope; they’re not going to reform that away; else I should vote for things staying as they are. Few men have less need to cry for change than I have, personally speaking⁠—that is, for self and family. I am not one of those who have nothing to lose: I mean as to respectability both in parish and private business, and noways in respect of your honorable self and custom, which you was good enough to say you would not withdraw from me, vote or no vote, while the article sent in was satisfactory.”

After this conversation Mr. Mawmsey went up and boasted to his wife that he had been rather too many for Brooke of Tipton, and that he didn’t mind so much now about going to the poll.

Mr. Brooke on this occasion abstained from boasting of his tactics