“In terms as moving and as strong,
As clear as ever fell from angel’s tongue,
Besought, reproved, exhorted.”
HARTE.
Signora Rivolta, in her present circumstances, felt it absolutely
necessary to send for Markham, in order to avail herself of his advice as
to what steps were now to be taken: for even if the Colonel had been a
man of business and decision, he was almost, if not entirely, a stranger
to the laws and manners of England.
Markham immediately obeyed the summons, and accompanied the family to
Brigland. At his suggestion they first called upon the clergyman, Mr.
Denver. From him Markham supposed that they should be able to gather the
particulars of Mr. Martindale’s death better than from talkative and
ignorant domestics, and less frigidly narrated than by a calculating
scrivener. The young barrister also supposed that Mr. Denver’s thirst for
knowledge might have put him into possession of all the particulars; and
he knew that nothing so tended to the abatement of sorrow as a little
ingenious circumstantiality. In these expectations Markham was not
disappointed.
Mr. Denver received the party with great ceremony and formality; and
though exceedingly sorry for the death of his good friend Mr. Martindale,
he could not help being very much gratified by this mark of respect and
consideration, nor could he well conceal his sense of the honor that was
done him by this call. He addressed himself principally to Mr. Markham,
having been previously acquainted with him, and regarding him as the
mouth and ear of the party.
“Ah, sir, this is indeed a serious loss to us all. I little thought when
poor Mr. Martindale sent for me last Monday morning, what was his object
in wishing to see me.”
“Was he taken ill on Monday morning?” interrupted Mr. Markham.
“Oh dear, no sir; on Monday morning he was as well as you are at this
moment. But it happened very curiously, that last Sunday Mr. Martindale
came to church, and I preached a sermon on the uncertainty of human
life. It is a sermon that I generally preach at this time of year. But
Mr. Martindale, who was not much in the habit of attending church, had
by some strange fatality heard this sermon twice before. Now, you know,
sir,” continued Mr. Denver, addressing himself to Mr. Markham, “that our
late friend was not much in the habit of taking notice of sermons. He
used to say, in his odd manner, that one sermon was as good as another,
for they all gave more good advice than any of the hearers followed.
Well, sir, he sent for me, as I was saying, and as soon as I entered the
room, (he was sitting in the bow-windowed drawing-room that overlooks
the park,) he rose from the sofa, on which he usually sat, between the
fire-place and window, and he took me by the hand, and without giving me
time to speak, he drew a chair with his other hand, and almost pushed me
into it, saying, ‘There, sit down, I want to talk to you.’ So I waited a
few seconds, and then said, ‘I shall be exceedingly happy to attend to
any commands which you may think fit to honor me with.’ Without making
any direct answer to what I said, and as if he was not aware that I had
spoken at all, he said, ‘How often have you preached that sermon which
I heard yesterday?’ I smiled at the singularity of the question--Mr.
Martindale used, you know, to ask very singular questions--and I said in
answer, ‘I cannot tell exactly how often; but it has not been preached, I
believe, oftener than any other.’--‘Perhaps not,’ he replied immediately;
‘but as I have heard it three times, it sounded to me yesterday as a
kind of warning, and I have a notion that I am not far from my end.’
I tried all I could to divert his mind from such gloomy thoughts, but
nothing that I could say produced any effect whatever. I said to him, ‘I
hope, sir, that you do not feel yourself unwell.’--‘Unwell!’ he replied,
‘to be sure I do. I am an old man; and old age is a disease that must
end in death.’--‘But, sir,’ said I again, ‘though you may be advanced in
years, yet you enjoy a tolerably good state of health; and there are many
persons much older than you who enjoy a very great share of health and a
good flow of spirits, and why then, sir, should you cherish such gloomy
thoughts?’”
Here Mr. Denver paused for a moment, and his countenance changed to a
still graver expression, when clasping his hands together, and then
spreading them out, and lifting up his eyes, he resumed his narrative,
saying,
“If I live to the age of Methuselah I shall never forget the impressive
and energetic manner in which Mr. Martindale replied. Before I had well
finished speaking, he hastily caught up my words, and said, ‘Many
persons older than me! Ay, sir, and there have been persons younger
than me or you who on Monday morning have been in apparently perfect
health, and on Saturday have been corpses. Now, sir, you preached to me
yesterday, give me leave to preach to you to-day. I recommend to you
for the future not to contradict on Monday what you have been preaching
on the Sunday. Yesterday you exhorted me most solemnly to prepare for
death, and to-day you are doing all in your power to divert my thoughts
from the contemplation of mortality.’ There was a degree of seriousness
in that rebuke which I felt to be irresistible; and I said no more. Our
late friend then proceeded to mention several other matters of a worldly
nature, and your name, sir, was very frequently mentioned; am I at
liberty to go on with that part of my narrative?”
This interrogation was addressed to Markham, who immediately and almost
quickly said, “By all means, Mr. Denver, by all means. I beg you would
not hesitate about the use of my name.”
“Your fathers name also was mentioned,” said the clergyman.
Markham supposed, therefore, that some allusion had been made to his
father’s embarrassments, and that on that account Mr. Denver felt some
delicacy in speaking of the subject. As, however, Markham was well
aware that nothing known to Mr. Denver could long be kept a secret, he
gave full permission for any and every thing to be repeated which Mr.
Martindale had said. On this leave, the rector of Brigland continued his
narrative.
“Changing the subject from spiritual to temporal matters, Mr. Martindale
then said, ‘Now, sir, I wish to make some alteration in my will in favor
of two good friends of mine; and I am not willing to send for Mr. Price
on this occasion, because I am desirous of making the alteration in his
favor. He is a scrupulous man, and he would plague me with his modest
refusals and opposition: so I shall execute it all myself; but I must
have witnesses to the alteration, and you must find me some. The other
friend whom I wish to put into my will, I believe you know. You dined
with him here some time ago, soon after the trial in which my cousin
was so unpleasantly engaged.’ I replied, ‘I know the gentleman, sir, to
whom you allude, I remember him perfectly well.’ Mr. Martindale then
proceeded, and as you wish to hear all the particulars, he said, ‘I have
lately seen the young man very properly and suitably engaged in attending
on his sick father; and from what I could learn before I left the town, I
have reason to believe…’”
Here Mr. Denver hesitated, and Markham colored. The latter, however, had
sufficient presence of mind to say, “I beg you will proceed; I am sure
that Mr. Martindale could never have made any unhandsome or illiberal
observations, or that indeed he could have said any thing which I could
object to hear.”
“His observations,” continued Mr. Denver, “were not illiberal; but I
felt some delicacy in alluding to the subject. Yet as you wish me to
continue, I will add, that Mr. Martindale did say that he thought that
there was something more than bodily illness, and that he had made such
inquiries and had received such information as gave him a very high
opinion of the parties concerned. He then said, that he was desirous of
putting the name of Mr. Markham in his will. At his request, and totally
unknown to Mr. Price, I fetched three gentlemen to witness the alteration
of the will. When the gentlemen arrived, Mr. Martindale said to them,
‘Now, my good friends, I have requested the favor of your attendance to
witness a transaction in which you have no interest; but I hope you will
not on that account refuse to indulge an old man’s whims.’ For these were
the same gentlemen who had witnessed the will which had been drawn out by
Mr. Price. The gentlemen of course expressed their readiness to attend
to the business on which they had been brought together; and then Mr.
Martindale said to them, ‘Now, gentlemen, I am a capricious old man, and
I wish to make some slight alteration in what I have called my last will
and testament; but as the alteration concerns my worthy friend Price,
I thought it best not to let him know any thing about the matter.’ He
then produced the will, and read it over very distinctly; making as he
went on many curious remarks, till when at last he reached the close of
it he said, ‘Now I have here left Price residuary-legatee and executor;
by which arrangement he will come into about ten or fifteen thousand
pounds. But as there has been some change of circumstances which may
render superfluous some of these legacies, and as Mr. Price does not
reside in town, I have designed to make this alteration, namely, to put
down his name as a legatee for twenty thousand, and to throw the burden
of executorship and the chance of what may remain on my young friend,
Horatio Markham of the Inner Temple.’”
Markham recollected, as who could not? the observation which had been
made to him by Sir Andrew Featherstone concerning the trickery of Mr.
Price, in keeping the old gentleman in ignorance of the real value and
extent of his property, in order to take advantage of that ignorance
for his own benefit. When, however, it appeared that Markham was put in
that position, it excited in his mind emotions not easily suppressed.
Not designing however to take undue advantage of this disposition, he
commanded his feelings, and suffered Mr. Denver to proceed.
“The alteration of the will was then made, and duly signed and attested.
The will was then committed to the care of Mr. Simpson, the banker, and
the party who had witnessed it were requested to stay and dine at the
cottage; and nobody could appear in better spirits or in better health
than Martindale then did. He was quite as full of humor as ever; and he
laughed and joked about the great house, for that was the name by which
he always called the Abbey; and he several times said, ‘I think I must
make another alteration in the will, and leave that foolish building
for a public hospital, or for a madhouse; for it is only fit for crazy
folks to inhabit.’ Then he said to us, ‘Have you any idea what that
ridiculous mass of building cost me?’ And one said one sum, and another
said another; and then the old gentleman laughed out and said, ‘Ay, ay,
you may guess as long as you please, but you will never hit the mark,
for upon my word I don’t know myself: for, in fact, before it was half
finished, I was so much ashamed of my folly, I endeavoured to avoid
knowing the amount of the expense.’ And thus quite in good-humor and high
spirits did the old gentleman continue till it was past eleven o’clock,
and even then he would hardly suffer us to take leave of him. The next
morning I called to see him, and he was quite as well as ever, and did
not take any notice of what had passed the day before; he only said,
‘Well, Mr. Denver, I am going down to Trimmerstone to inspect the repairs
at the hall; but I will take care not to make such a fool’s hutch as that
great house over the way.’ After I had been gone about an hour or more,
a messenger came to fetch me again to go up to the cottage. Then I found
Mr. Martindale extremely ill; a violent paralysis had seized him, and he
was nearly speechless. It was with the utmost difficulty that he could
be understood. Mr. Price was there, and was really as much affected
as if it had been his own father. It was absolutely impossible to take
any commands from Mr. Martindale himself, and Mr. Price thought it best
to apprise his relations of the danger in which he was lying. For this
purpose he despatched immediately a letter to Sir Andrew Featherstone,
that he might gradually break the affair to them. But that letter had
been scarcely sent off, when poor Mr. Martindale had a second attack,
and in less than an hour he ceased to live. It is impossible for me to
express what I felt upon this occasion. The language which he had used
to me on the preceding day occurred so forcibly to my mind, it seemed as
though it were quite prophetic.”
Mr. Denver finished his narration, which was attended to by Signora
Rivolta not without some emotion. She felt much more deeply at this
recital of her father’s decease than she had at the discovery of his
existence. Clara too felt very sorry for her loss; for there had always
been about her grandfather a peculiarly kind and gentle manner. He was
an odd man, certainly; but if odd men have amiable qualities, their
very oddness renders these good qualities more impressive and beautiful.
Clara relied upon his judgment, and was delighted with the kindness of
his heart. Clara was one who loved prodigies; and to her imaginative mind
old Mr. Martindale was a prodigy of wisdom and benevolence. Clara might
possess judgment as well as imagination; but she was not always aware
of the precise line which divided them, and she sometimes mistook the
promptings of the one for the decisions of the other.
The construction and arrangement of the external world is beautifully
adapted to the varieties of minds which contemplate it, and the
diversities of feelings which delight to be interested. If there be in
any mind a love of the wonderful, there is abundant supply of it. If
there be a delight in uniformity, there is also a uniformity precise
beyond the utmost stretch of mathematical conception; and amidst human
character there is also a delightful abundance of varied interest: for
the sensibility which is most happy in tears, may also find sorrows
wherewith to sympathise; the humor that is disposed to indulge itself in
laughter, lacks not a liberal harvest of absurdities; the censorious,
whose virtues consist in railing at others’ vices, never are at a loss
for some vices to reprove; and those who like Clara Rivolta are delighted
with romantically beautiful specimens of exalted moral character, may
always find them.
It was then determined by the party that the gentlemen should proceed to
the cottage, and take the necessary steps for arranging the funeral of
their deceased friend, and that the ladies should remain at the house of
Mr. Denver.