Dickens's England (16 page)

I fear no foe with Thee at hand to bless;

Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness;

Where is death's sting? Where, grave, thy victory?

I triumph still, if Thou abide with me.

Hold Thou Thy Cross before my closing eyes;

Shine through the gloom, and point me to the skies;

Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee;

In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.

Henry Francis Lyte (
c
. 1820)

(II)

Fight the good fight with all thy might,

Christ is thy strength and Christ thy right;

Lay hold on life, and it shall be

Thy joy and crown eternally.

Run the straight race through God's good grace,

Lift up thine eyes and seek his face;

Life with its way before thee lies,

Christ is the path and Christ the prize.

Cast care aside; upon thy Guide

Lean, and his mercy will provide;

Lean, and the trusting soul shall prove

Christ is its life, and Christ its love.

Faint not nor fear, his arms are near;

He changeth not, and thou art dear;

Only believe, and thou shalt see

That Christ is all in all to thee.

John Monsell (1863, both,
Hymns Ancient and Modern
)

THE FINAL HYMN

The service closed with a hymn, in which the brothers unanimously roared, and the sisters unanimously shrieked at me, that I by wiles of worldly gain was mocked, and they on waters of sweet love were rocked; that I with Mammon struggled in the dark, while they were floating in a second ark. I went out from all this with an aching heart and a weary spirit.

Charles Dickens, ‘George Silvester's Explanation',
Christmas Stories
(1868)

SIMPLE FAITH

In those days [1830s] people believed with a simple downrightness which I do not observe among educated men and women now. It had never so much as crossed Theobald's mind to doubt the literal accuracy of any syllable in the Bible. He had never seen any book in which this was disputed, nor met with anyone who doubted it. True, there was just a little scare about geology, but there was nothing in it. If it was said that God made the world in six days, neither in more nor less; if it was said he put Adam to sleep, took out one of his ribs and made a woman out of it, why, it was so as a matter of course. He, Adam, went to sleep as it might be himself, Theobald Pontifex, in a garden, as it might be the garden at Crampsford Rectory during the summer months when it was so pretty, only that it was larger, and had some tame wild animals in it. Then God came up to him, as it might be Mr Allaby or his father, dexterously took out one of his ribs without waking him, and miraculously healed the wound so that no trace of the operation remained. Finally, God had taken the rib perhaps into the greenhouse, and had turned it into just such another young woman as Christina. That was how it was done; there was neither difficulty nor shadow of difficulty about the matter. Could not God do anything He liked, and had He not in His own inspired Book told us that He had done this?

This was the average attitude of fairly educated young men and women towards the Mosaic cosmogony fifty, forty, or even twenty years ago. The combating of infidelity, therefore, offered little scope for enterprising young clergymen, nor had the Church awakened to the activity which she has since displayed among the poor in our large towns. These were then left almost without an effort at resistance or co-operation to the labours of those who had succeeded Wesley. Missionary work in heathen countries was being carried on with some energy, but Theobald did not feel any call to be a missionary. . . . Theobald, however, had not been kindled by Christina's enthusiasm, so she fell back upon the church of Rome – an enemy more dangerous, if possible, than paganism itself. A combat with Romanism might even yet win for her and Theobald the crown of martyrdom. True, the Church of Rome was tolerably quiet just then, but it was the calm before the storm, of this she was assured, with a conviction deeper than she could have attained by any argument founded upon mere reason.

Samuel Butler,
The Way of All Flesh
(written 1872–84, pub. 1902)

THE ENEMY WITHIN

‘Anagram on the Word, Monastery'

How much there is in a word! ‘Monastery,' said I, ‘that makes
nasty Rome.'
And then I looked again, and there it was
more nasty
– a very vile place, or
Roman stye. ‘Ay, monster
!' said I, have I found you out?' ‘What monster?' said the Pope. ‘What monster?' said I; ‘why, your own image there –
stone Mary.'
‘That,' said he, ‘is
my own star
– my Stella Maria, my pride, my treasure.' ‘No,' said I, ‘you should say
my treason.' ‘Yet no arms,'
said he. ‘No,' quoth I, ‘you rely on quiet means, which do better, so long as you may have
no mastery;
I mean
many arts.'
‘No,' said he again, ‘these are
Tory means; my senator
will baffle them.' I do not know that,' said I, ‘but I think one might make no
mean story
out of this one word Monastery.' Old Paper.

Anon., ‘
Old Jonathan
' (1867)

FOR WHOM THE BELL TOLLS

It was a Sunday evening in London, gloomy, close and stale. Maddening church bells of all degrees of dissonance, sharp and flat, cracked and clear, fast and slow, made the brick-and-mortar echoes hideous. Melancholy streets in a penitential garb of soot, steeped the souls of the people who were condemned to look at them out of windows in dire despondency. In every thoroughfare, up almost every alley, and down almost every turning, some doleful bell was throbbing, jerking, tolling, as if the Plague were in the city and the dead-carts were going round. . . .

Mr Arthur Clennam sat in the window of the coffee-house on Ludgate Hill, counting one of the neighbouring bells, making sentences and burdens of songs out of it in spite of himself, and wondering how many sick people it might be the death of in the course of the year. As the hour approached, its changes of measure made it more and more exasperating. At the quarter, it went off into a condition of deadly-lively importunity, urging the populace in a voluble manner to Come to church, Come to church, Come to church! At the ten minutes, it became aware that the congregation would be scanty, and slowly hammered out in low spirits, They
won't
come, they
won't
come, they
won't
come! At the five minutes, it abandoned hope, and shook every house in the neighbourhood for three hundred seconds, with one dismal swing per second, as a groan of despair.

‘Thank Heaven!' said Clennam, when the hour struck, and the bell stopped. Charles Dickens,
Little Dorrit
(1857)

KEEP HOLY THE SABBATH

Our friends found Dr Proudie [the new Bishop of Barchester] sitting on the old Bishop's chair, looking very nice in his new apron; they found, too, Mr Slope [the Bishop's chaplain] standing on the hearth-rug, persuasive and eager, just as the archdeacon used to stand; but on the sofa they also found Mrs Proudie, an innovation for which a precedent might in vain be sought in all the annals of the Barchester bishopric!

There she was, however, and they could only make the best of her. . . .

‘Are the arrangements for the Sabbath-day schools generally pretty good in your archdeaconry?' asked Mr Slope.

‘Sabbath-day schools!' repeated the archdeacon with an affectation of surprise. ‘Upon my word, I can't tell; it depends mainly on the parson's wife and daughters. There is none at Plumstead.'

Mr Slope merely opened his eyes wider, and slightly shrugged his shoulders. He was not, however, prepared to give up his darling project.

‘I fear there is a great deal of Sabbath travelling here,' said he. ‘On looking at the “Bradshaw”, I see that there are three trains in and out every Sabbath. Could nothing be done to induce the company to withdraw them? Don't you think, Dr Grantly, that a little energy might diminish the evil?'

‘Not being a director, I really can't say. But if you can withdraw the passengers, the company I dare say will withdraw the trains,' said the Doctor. ‘It's merely a question of dividends.'

‘But surely, Dr Grantly,' said the lady, ‘surely we should look at it differently. You and I, for instance, in our position: surely we should do all that we can to control so grievous a sin. Don't you think so, Mr Harding?' and she turned to the precentor, who was sitting mute and unhappy.

Mr Harding thought that all porters and stokers, guards, brakemen and pointsmen ought to have an opportunity of going to church, and he hoped that they all had.

‘But surely, surely,' continued Mrs Proudie, ‘surely that is not enough. Surely that will not secure such an observance of the Sabbath as we are taught to conceive is not only expedient but indispensable; surely –'

Come what might, Dr Grantly was not to be forced into a dissertation on a point of doctrine with Mrs Proudie, nor yet with Mr Slope; so without much ceremony he turned his back upon the sofa. . . .

Mrs Proudie . . . had not . . . given up her hold of Mr Harding, nor ceased from her cross-examinations as to the iniquity of Sabbatical amusements. Over and over again had she thrown out her ‘Surely, surely,' at Mr Harding's devoted head, and ill had that gentleman been able to parry the attack.

He had never before found himself subjected to such a nuisance. Ladies hitherto, when they had consulted him on religious subjects, had listened to what he might choose to say with some deference, and had differed, if they differed, in silence. But Mrs Proudie interrogated him, and then lectured. ‘Neither thou, nor thy son, nor thy daughter, thy man servant, nor thy maid servant,' said she, impressively, and more than once, as though Mr Harding had forgotten the words. She shook her finger at him as she quoted the favourite law, as though menacing him with punishment; and then called upon him categorically to state whether he did not think that travelling on the Sabbath was an abomination and a desecration.

Mr Harding had never been so hard pressed in his life . . . She, seeing him sit silent and absorbed, by no means refrained from the attack.

‘I hope, Mr Harding, said she, shaking her head slowly and solemnly, ‘I hope you will not leave me to think that you approve of sabbath travelling,' and she looked a look of unutterable meaning into his eyes.

There was no standing this, for Mr Slope was now looking at him, and so was the Bishop, and so was the archdeacon, who had completed his adieux on that side of the room. Mr Harding therefore got up also, and putting out his hand to Mrs Proudie said, ‘If you will come to St Cuthbert's some Sunday, I will preach you a sermon on that subject.'

And so the archdeacon and precentor took their departure, bowing low to the lady, shaking hands with the lord, and escaping from Mr Slope in the best manner each could. Mr Harding was again maltreated [with a moist handshake]; but Dr Grantly swore deeply in the bottom of his heart, that no earthly consideration should ever again induce him to touch the paw of that impure and filthy animal.

Anthony Trollope,
Barchester Towers
(1855)

THE LATEST DECALOGUE

Thou shalt have one God only; who

Would be at the expense of two?

No graven images may be

Worshipped, except the currency:

Swear not at all; for, for thy curse

Thine enemy is none the worse:

At church on Sunday to attend

Will serve to keep the world thy friend:

Honour thy parents; that is, all

From whom advancement may befall:

Thou shalt not kill; but need'st not strive

Officiously to keep alive:

Do not adultery commit;

Advantage rarely comes of it:

Thou shalt not steal; an empty feat

When it's so lucrative to cheat:

Bear not false witness; let the lie

Have time on its own wings to fly:

Thou shalt not covet; but tradition

Approves all forms of competition.

The sum of all is, thou shalt love,

If anybody, God above:

At any rate shall never labour

More
than thyself to love thy neighbour.

Arthur Hugh Clough,
Poems
(1862)

WARNING

Wherever a young man turns for worldly amusement he meets danger. Towns swarm with brilliantly lighted saloons, which hold out their meretricious attractions. There is the drama, music and art. It was ascertained that in two hours one evening six hundred young men entered one musichall in London. Were these rooms harmless, he would be an enemy to human happiness who objected to them. If they are demoralizing and ruinous to the health and character of the inexperienced, he is a friend who points this out. It is little suspected how women with bedizened head-dresses and flaunty robes are folding around them the last shreds of their modesty; how married men hide under white waistcoats polluted hearts; how, while ‘grey hairs dance, devils laugh and angels weep'; how bankrupts wear forced smiles; how the victims of disease and death hide their ghastliness by flowers, and light their rapid progress to the grave by flaming gas-light. It is little known how thousands of young men from the religious homes of Scotland and Wales pass into a speedy oblivion after their feet have once crossed the threshold of these rooms in English cities. Alas, what a tale might be told of fathers' hairs whitened, mothers' hearts crushed, sisters' eyes swollen with tears – over sons once the pride of their homes! . . .

Oh, there is a solemn irony of Scripture when it saith, ‘Rejoice, O young man, in thy youth; and let thine heart cheer thee in the days of thy youth, and walk in the ways of thine heart, and in the sight of thine eyes:
but know thou, that for all these things God will bring thee into judgement. Therefore remove the cause of sorrow from thy heart, and put away evil from thy flesh.'