Read Online The Good Soldier by Ford Madox Ford - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ford Madox Ford
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New England conscience. For, of course, that frame of
mind has been driven in on the English Catholics. The centuries
that they have gone through—centuries of blind and malignant
oppression, of ostracism from public employment, of being, as it
were, a small beleagured garrison in a hostile country, and
therefore having to act with great formality—all these things have
combined to perform that conjuring trick. And I suppose that
Papists in England are even technically Nonconformists.
Continental Papists are a dirty, jovial and unscrupulous crew.
But that, at least, lets them be opportunists. They would have
fixed poor dear Edward up all right. (Forgive my writing of these
monstrous things in this frivolous manner. If I did not I should
break down and cry.) In Milan, say, or in Paris, Leonora would have
had her marriage dissolved in six months for two hundred dollars
paid in the right quarter. And Edward would have drifted about
until he became a tramp of the kind I have suggested. Or he would
have married a barmaid who would have made him such frightful
scenes in public places and would so have torn out his moustache
and left visible signs upon his face that he would have been
faithful to her for the rest of his days. That was what he wanted
to redeem him....
For, along with his passions and his shames there went the dread
of scenes in public places, of outcry, of excited physical
violence; of publicity, in short. Yes, the barmaid would have cured
him. And it would have been all the better if she drank; he would
have been kept busy looking after her.
I know that I am right in this. I know it because of the Kilsyte
case. You see, the servant girl that he then kissed was nurse in
the family of the Nonconformist head of the county—whatever that
post may be called. And that gentleman was so determined to ruin
Edward, who was the chairman of the Tory caucus, or whatever it
is—that the poor dear sufferer had the very devil of a time. They
asked questions about it in the House of Commons; they tried to get
the Hampshire magistrates degraded; they suggested to the War
Ministry that Edward was not the proper person to hold the King's
commission. Yes, he got it hot and strong.
The result you have heard. He was completely cured of
philandering amongst the lower classes. And that seemed a real
blessing to Leonora. It did not revolt her so much to be
connected—it is a sort of connection—with people like Mrs Maidan,
instead of with a little kitchenmaid.
In a dim sort of way, Leonora was almost contented when she
arrived at Nauheim, that evening....
She had got things nearly straight by the long years of scraping
in little stations in Chitral and Burma—stations where living is
cheap in comparison with the life of a county magnate, and where,
moreover, liaisons of one sort or another are normal and
inexpensive too. So that, when Mrs Maidan came along—and the Maidan
affair might have caused trouble out there because of the youth of
the husband—Leonora had just resigned herself to coming home. With
pushing and scraping and with letting Branshaw Teleragh, and with
selling a picture and a relic of Charles I or so, had got—and, poor
dear, she had never had a really decent dress to her back in all
those years and years—she had got, as she imagined, her poor dear
husband back into much the same financial position as had been his
before the mistress of the Grand Duke had happened along. And, of
course, Edward himself had helped her a little on the financial
side. He was a fellow that many men liked. He was so presentable
and quite ready to lend you his cigar puncher—that sort of thing.
So, every now and then some financier whom he met about would give
him a good, sound, profitable tip. And Leonora was never afraid of
a bit of a gamble—English Papists seldom are, I do not know
why.
So nearly all her investment turned up trumps, and Edward was
really in fit case to reopen Branshaw Manor and once more to assume
his
mind has been driven in on the English Catholics. The centuries
that they have gone through—centuries of blind and malignant
oppression, of ostracism from public employment, of being, as it
were, a small beleagured garrison in a hostile country, and
therefore having to act with great formality—all these things have
combined to perform that conjuring trick. And I suppose that
Papists in England are even technically Nonconformists.
Continental Papists are a dirty, jovial and unscrupulous crew.
But that, at least, lets them be opportunists. They would have
fixed poor dear Edward up all right. (Forgive my writing of these
monstrous things in this frivolous manner. If I did not I should
break down and cry.) In Milan, say, or in Paris, Leonora would have
had her marriage dissolved in six months for two hundred dollars
paid in the right quarter. And Edward would have drifted about
until he became a tramp of the kind I have suggested. Or he would
have married a barmaid who would have made him such frightful
scenes in public places and would so have torn out his moustache
and left visible signs upon his face that he would have been
faithful to her for the rest of his days. That was what he wanted
to redeem him....
For, along with his passions and his shames there went the dread
of scenes in public places, of outcry, of excited physical
violence; of publicity, in short. Yes, the barmaid would have cured
him. And it would have been all the better if she drank; he would
have been kept busy looking after her.
I know that I am right in this. I know it because of the Kilsyte
case. You see, the servant girl that he then kissed was nurse in
the family of the Nonconformist head of the county—whatever that
post may be called. And that gentleman was so determined to ruin
Edward, who was the chairman of the Tory caucus, or whatever it
is—that the poor dear sufferer had the very devil of a time. They
asked questions about it in the House of Commons; they tried to get
the Hampshire magistrates degraded; they suggested to the War
Ministry that Edward was not the proper person to hold the King's
commission. Yes, he got it hot and strong.
The result you have heard. He was completely cured of
philandering amongst the lower classes. And that seemed a real
blessing to Leonora. It did not revolt her so much to be
connected—it is a sort of connection—with people like Mrs Maidan,
instead of with a little kitchenmaid.
In a dim sort of way, Leonora was almost contented when she
arrived at Nauheim, that evening....
She had got things nearly straight by the long years of scraping
in little stations in Chitral and Burma—stations where living is
cheap in comparison with the life of a county magnate, and where,
moreover, liaisons of one sort or another are normal and
inexpensive too. So that, when Mrs Maidan came along—and the Maidan
affair might have caused trouble out there because of the youth of
the husband—Leonora had just resigned herself to coming home. With
pushing and scraping and with letting Branshaw Teleragh, and with
selling a picture and a relic of Charles I or so, had got—and, poor
dear, she had never had a really decent dress to her back in all
those years and years—she had got, as she imagined, her poor dear
husband back into much the same financial position as had been his
before the mistress of the Grand Duke had happened along. And, of
course, Edward himself had helped her a little on the financial
side. He was a fellow that many men liked. He was so presentable
and quite ready to lend you his cigar puncher—that sort of thing.
So, every now and then some financier whom he met about would give
him a good, sound, profitable tip. And Leonora was never afraid of
a bit of a gamble—English Papists seldom are, I do not know
why.
So nearly all her investment turned up trumps, and Edward was
really in fit case to reopen Branshaw Manor and once more to assume
his
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