Chapter 7

Sir Henry maintained his calm as he strode towards the stables. He knew his father’s position, and had planned to plant just a seed of an idea today. Yet even though Lord Byron’s reaction was predicted, Sir Henry could not quell his disappointment. He was used to his father’s temper and his half-hearted, semi-amusing insults, which he did not believe afflicted any real wounds. Apathy may be a sort of wound as it was. He found it encroaching on his grand scheme as well. What good is an education when one’s relationships are so strained. He would wait out the storm on horseback.

A few hours later he drew towards the Coleworth’s road. He came upon Catherine carrying some parcels home. When she heard the approaching horse steps, she turned. Sir Henry saw her smile before she quickly concealed it behind an impassive face. “Good afternoon, Miss Coleworth.”

“Good afternoon, Sir Henry.”

“Would you like Roman to carry your goods?” he offered as he dismounted.

“They aren’t a burden, thank you.”

“May I walk with you, then?”

“Surely.”

“I know I haven’t been around lately.”

“You must be very busy,” Catherine hurriedly filled in to keep him from having to explain.

“Busy,” he said shortly.

Catherine decided not to push the conversation further.

“What have you been reading lately?” he asked to distract himself.

“Actually nothing. I can’t keep my mind on it.”

“I’ve been wondering about the point lately anyway. I was so happy to hear of your family’s enjoyment of books, and thought it would make such a difference. It has made a difference. I don’t know if we would have understood each other so well had we not read many of the same or same types of things. But what if neither of us had? I suppose we would have been happier with what we were told from our forefathers.”

“I don’t know about happier. At least accepting. But what if our immediate forefathers were wrong? Aren’t ancient writers also our forefathers?”
“Excellent point. Somehow though, accepting them can make it harder to accept one’s closer relatives, which feels like disloyalty. Besides, they had similar ideas of class.”

“When I read them, I can’t help but consider their point of view rather than the point of view of other objects and classes of their scrutiny. If they are free to categorize about the world, then so should I be because I’m hearing first person and interpreting in first person. I think most people identify, unless it’s too unpalatable, with the author.”

“But those in power wont feel you have the right,” Henry said bluntly.

“I haven’t had much dealings with them, nor sought it out.”

Henry looked at her and wondered how that would be. “Until I showed up. Not that you’ve sought out my visits.”

Catherine kept her eyes on the road before her.

“Do you mind my visits?”

“I enjoy them, but at the same time I find them confusing. I don’t know how candid I should be, for one thing.”

“I like your candor.”

“Don’t you think about the ‘should’ness of it?”

“Not really.”

“That confuses me too. How is it so easy for you? I guess because you are used to freedom. Till now I have been free in my reading, but nothing else. It was all very innocent. Father did not tell us until you started visiting that the books were borrowed without permission. I don’t know what I’d have thought if he’d told us that it was our right to learn without the consent of the Lords. Now it feels wrong. I’m not really the rebellious type.”

“I am if I’m convinced that wrongs are being done. I don’t think the aristocracy is right to keep workers uneducated. However, once you decide to fight something, there’s going to be casualties. I don’t want you to be one of them.”

“I don’t feel that I need the liberty to read or death. Like I say, I don’t even want to read right now.”

“I wonder why that is.”

She turned moistened eyes up to him. Her look caused a tremor in his chest. He stopped himself from reaching for her.

“Hard to read with misty eyes I guess.” He handed her his kerchief, and she dabbed her eyes as they walked along in silence.

Chapter 6

Dear Sir Henry,

I am especially intrigued by your grouping together senses and emotions. One cannot help how much one’s mouth may water, for example, in response to smelling a savory food, so it may follow that one cannot help one’s emotional responses. We do not choose what makes us happy or sad. In one sense this puts emotions on an animal level, even if some of our emotions are higher than theirs. I suppose it is good to devalue them in this way. It would be natural to assume that rational thought is above emotions, yet I am glad that you do not place it at the top. Not that we are to discard all these things, but we are to place them in the proper chain of command, as it were.

Thank you for your thoughts.

Regards,
Catherine Coleworth

Catherine could not help feeling disappointed at how proper it all was, but she did not want to place this emotion in the forefront. There were other things to consider. Sir Henry’s response to her letter was similar. How nice it was to be able to categorize things correctly, but surprising was how empty the exercise left him.

After some days Josiah wondered at Sir Henry’s extended absence. He and Susannah Coleworth had suspected he was becoming interested in Catherine and had anticipated more visits. It did seem that both of them had talked themselves out of moving towards union, however, even if Catherine at least was unhappy about it. She devoted herself more fervently to her prayers, but her joylessness at it concerned him. Previously she had engaged in her prayers more light-heartedly. Though Josiah agreed that cultivating the spirit is a first priority, his daughter’s somberness worried him. Why must romantic attachment be so important to women and their parents? Survival of the species and the nature of women in desiring their husbands and in finding fulfillment in child-bearing is a curse and a blessing.

Meanwhile, Sir Henry busied himself with the affairs of the estate and found a certain fulfilment in maintaining and improving its efficiency. Once his father returned from his trip, Sir Henry broached the topic of a community library.

“What the devil?” said Lord Byron abashed, the smoke from his pipe puffing out with each syllable. “Tenants have no time for such high-minded pursuits. It will take their attention off their farming.”

“I think you underestimate them, Father. Some may have the capacity to handle both, not to mention the idea that if they are more educated, they may care more about their work.”

“Nonsense. They learn the traditional methods and are rewarded with their yeilds. Their stomachs make them care about their work.”

“I wonder how my education relates to how much I care about their work and their minds. I could perform an experiment on one of the tenants We have never been afraid of trying new methods to increase productivity, Father. Surely one tenant’s education,” he did not think his father was ready to consider a whole family of men and women, “wont spoil anything if it doesn’t go well.” Sir Henry also did not want to tell his father that this had already occurred covertly.

“Balderdash. It would be like mixing oil and water. Leave it alone.”

“I can’t, Father. I’ve already made efforts with one of them.”

His Father looked at him more seriously. “You’ve gone off your nut! What possessed you to defy order and class distinctions! I’d no idea I’d raised a renegade. Where’s the loyalty, where’s the family responsibility? If only I’d had another son! Miriam! Come here!”

Lady Essex proceeded into the study. “What is it, Dear?”

“Your son has sold the family name to the tenants. All is lost.”

“Surely not, Dear.”

“Don’t you defy me, too, Woman!”

“How has Henry sold the family name?”

“By pretending he was not born noble and that they were not born workers. How could you have raised him without a sense of place? It’s all because of your embarrassment with the servants. I’ve told you to maintain a proper distance and respect for distinctions!”

“It is true that I have not felt a distinction between their existence and my own. I do not see diverse endeavors in a hierarchical way. There is a greatness to serving.”

“Then let them keep their greatness! How dare Henry demean them by filling them with high-minded philosophy!”

“I agree. I don’t see the use.”

Remembering his discomfort with Catherine made him question it too. Had he been unwise to support the Coleworth’s reading, and then to engage them in classless conversation?

“Which tenant are you corrupting?” demanded Lord Byron.

“I’ll not say until we’ve reached more of an understanding.”

And with that Sir Henry removed himself to the grounds.

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Dear Miss Coleworth, ℅ Mr. Josiah Coleworth

I am writing to you instead of speaking in person because of the personal nature of discussing the senses, as we began to do when I last visited your family. The senses are both personal and according to human nature, so I do not want to neglect the topic merely out of respect for individual feelings. Hopefully one can retain personal distance through an intermediary such as pen and paper as only the sense of sight is involved in reading the words.

If I may speculate. It is the human senses that initially detect relationship between diverse objects, visible and invisible. The invisible is felt mainly by emotions. Humans place value on things, many times based on feelings, either higher or lower ones. For example, through taste we determine which foods and their various combinations are good and which are not. Regulating the senses is our conscience. Though a food may be “good”, judgment determines when and how much of it we eat. A sensual person does not use judgment as much as one who lives more in his head, so to speak. A person who lives in his head may have different troubles regulating his idealism, however, but that is another topic.

In addition to judgment, we also have a spirit that if rightly related to, can guide us above the senses, or help us put them in their proper place. A spiritual person isn’t solely reliant on their senses and emotions, nor on their rationality, but receives inspiration and direction from their relationship to God. This relationship takes much cultivation.

Therefore, as you so astutely observed, relationship is the binding or repelling force between diverse objects.

Respectfully,
Sir Henry John Essex


Catherine struggled with her mixed feelings after reading Sir Henry’s letter. During their initial talk, she had been chiefly motivated by a desire to understand, but she had also been impacted by the personal nature of the senses discussed. Indeed the question of hoping for more had presented itself. She also pondered the idea of putting emotions in the same category as the senses, as if they were as common and automatic as physical reactions. She decided that she should pursue this thought on paper also.

Alternate Chapter 4

Sir Henry returned to the Coleworths a few days later. Towards the end of the conversation-filled meal, Catherine asked Sir Henry, "If we do not agree with the dialectic process of thesis, antithesis, and synthesis, what is the good of a conversation? Do we always need to maintain diversity?”

Glad that she was keeping up with the conversation, Sir Henry explained, "Diversity will always be maintained because everything imagined already exists, or else it could not be imagined. If a synthesis is created, it becomes a third thing. The third thing may be preferable to both conversants, but the other two things should not be seen as being destroyed by the process. They remain options. People tend to like to burn bridges because keeping the other options open produces anxiety and insecurity. I suggest that the reason for the insecurity does not lie in the likelihood of a person changing their mind, but in the individualized value of necessity placed on one of the options to the exclusion of the rest. This is not to say that one option should not be thus valued, but the insecurity associated with it may have unhealthy factors attached. Reasons become all-important. Not objectives. Determining reasons then becomes the goal of conversation. Could your reason for asking be based on a fear of silence?"

"Hmm. Perhaps. Silence and the connotation of lack of relationship that goes along with it."

"Ah. Relationship is the mysterious element when things are allowed to maintain their diversity. What would conversation be like then, individuals explaining their differences?"

"I suppose a response could be to point out similarities."

"Similarities amongst diverse individuals. One could be afraid, again a reason, not a negation of the possibility, of losing individuality if similarities are focused on."

"Then one could discuss the value of fear or move beyond that to the relationship of similarity to diversity."

"How like a woman to keep bringing it back to relationship! Or how about a comparison, contrast of synthesis to relationship? Actually, I wonder if there is such a thing as a synthesis. In chemistry, a solution is able to retain the properties of both the solvent and the solute, though the solvent keeps its dominant physical properties."

"When a person drinks a glass of highly concentrated salt-water, which are you most aware of, the water or the salt?" Catherine said, not the least flustered.

Sir Henry, however, was. He quickly recovered. "Tasting being the required step to detect the diversity."

Now it was Catherine’s turn to fluster. The others busied themselves preparing the table for clearing.

"Comparing and contrasting tasting to the other senses involved, mainly sight and touch, would be an interesting conversation."

"Maybe too interesting, which would be a reason not to have it now." Then to the family, "Thank you for the delightful evening. I must be going."

Pysanky note

Each line is infinite around the egg. It always surprises me when it meets itself on the other side. 20 down, 4 to go.

Chapter 4

Sir Henry returned to the Coleworths a few days later. After an impressive and meaningful philosophical conversation with the whole family, Sir Henry spoke privately to Josiah and then proposed to Catherine. “First I have to summon my ancestors to ask their permission too.” Horrified, Sir Henry ran out the door decrying pagan upstarts. “I guess that’s off”, Catherine shrugged. “Maybe I should quit trying to shock people. Whose litmus test is superior, the one who wants a proper partner, or the one who wants one who will accept-me-as-I-am. Neither and both. I don’t deserve him and he doesn’t deserve me. She tearfully went to the chicken coop to console herself in their simplicity. To her surprise, Sir Henry found her there and said, “You were kidding weren’t you?” “Yes, but that doesn’t mean that talking to one’s ancestors is pagan.” “Maybe not. I think we should spend the rest of our lives talking about it.” Sir Henry took the bowl of chicken feed and made the outline of a five-pointed star on the ground, around which he enclosed a heart shape. As the chickens were eating it Catherine laughed but smeared the remains around with her foot. She crossed herself just in case. “We may end up corrupting each other,” he said. “But isn’t that better than being alone?” “I don’t know, but I can’t help it.” With that he took her in his arms and kissed her willing but trembling mouth.

The End

Chapter 3

After a few days, Mr. Carl Coleworth announced to Sir Henry that his nephew, Josiah, had returned and that the damaged cart was now again ready for service.

“Capital,” said Sir Henry. He summoned the groomsman to make ready his horse.

This time he was greeted by the sight of Josiah splitting logs.

“Mr. Coleworth, Sir Henry John Essex at your service.” He said joyfully as he dismounted.

“Of course, honored I’m sure,” came the stony reply. Sir Henry could not tell if he was being patronized or not. One could never be certain about intelligent tenants.

“I wonder if your Uncle Carl told you of our conversation during your absence.”

“As long as we’re getting straight to the point, Sir, I would like to thank you for loaning your very interesting books to me. It was very magnanimous.”

“You are welcome on one condition, that you invite me into your house.”

“If the mistress of said house doesn’t mind.”

“That being my condition too.”

Sir Henry wondered if this deference to womankind was indeed a portent of what happens when tenants become educated.

Josiah proceeded behind the small stone and beam cottage to find his wife in their kitchen garden. After a length of time that indicated that there were bumps in the conversation, he emerged as stony as before. “This way please.”

Inside the wooden door, Sir Henry’s eyes adjusted to the light limited to the one window whose wooden trap door lay open on this balmy day. Josiah pulled out the chair opposite and they both sat down.

“Cozy,” offered Sir Henry.

“So you are curious about the brains of lowly tenant cabbage farmers, Sir. I’ll tell you how I came to read your books. My father first wandered in your library as a child as he and Carl were sons of the previous gardener’s assistant. He picked up the Iliad and began our family habit of borrowing books, replacing them once read.”

“Do you discuss them with your family?” Henry wondered if discussions would lead to a desire to change their circumstances.

“Yes, we share with each other what is of interest in the books.”

“Are you content?”

“Yes, Sir. We are content.”

“Curious.”

“Why so?”

“Some believe that once a tenant has become educated that it will make him discontent with his circumstances and seek to better himself in other ways.”

“I would say that I should be very discontent if I did not have books to read. My mind would become restless.”

“That is exactly my feeling,” said Sir Henry.

“However, there is a problem.”

Sir Henry did not expect Josiah to mention a difficulty when he was a beneficiary of the situation.

“And what is that?”

“’With knowledge brings responsibility.’”

“Ah. You do not wish to upset the status quo, but fear it may be required of you?”

“Yes.”

“And what do you believe you may be responsible for?”

“Teaching other tenants and making books available to them as well.”

“Do you believe that a desire to be so engaged exists in other tenants?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Have you ever talked about it to anyone?”

“My friends and extended family are aware of our enjoyment of books, but have not expressed an interest in joining our activity. I have not asked them why not.”

Mrs. Coleworth and her daughter came into the house carrying various vegetables which they placed on the kitchen pantry.

“Sir Henry, I believe you’re acquainted with my wife, Susannah, and my daughter, Catherine? Albert is tending the cabbages.”

“I’m pleased to be more formally introduced,” he said with a bow towards each of them with was met with shallow curtsies.

“Would you care for some mead, Sir Henry?” Susannah offered.

“Splendid, Madam.”

Catherine went to the buttery to fetch the refreshment. When she returned Sir Henry said, “Your father has been telling me of the family practice of reading books from the estate library, Madam and Miss Catherine.” Before she could question his feelings about finding out their source, he continued towards Mr. Coleworth,

“As you know, it is not customary for tenants to be so occupied. Are you aware that there are some who would object if they knew?”

“It surely must be so or my father would not have originally introduced the habit of not talking to others about the estate library. Neither did he speak of his reading when selling our cabbages or in paying the rent. This was his main dealing with the aristocracy and those more closely connected to them.”

“Then why did you respond to my post?”

“Your post!” he chuckled a few moments before scratching his head. “I reckon one risk leads to another.”

They both raised their mead in pleasant silence as the ladies turned towards their vegetables. After downing the last of his glass, Sir Henry got up and said, “I’ve interrupted you too long. I’ll contact you again soon.”

“It was an honor, Sir Henry,” said Josiah as Sir Henry removed himself after bowing to all present.

Once outside he saw Albert coming into the yard. “Ah, Master Albert, coming in from the cabbages?” winked Sir Henry.

“Sir Henry, I presume?”

“Stanley! Good show. Goodbye for now.”

Enigmatic indeed, thought Sir Henry to himself.